Beat 72: Corn of Coercion
Less than a day ago,
the O’Leary family needed a new table for the kitchen. Now they needed a new kitchen.
Only one out of every
four cabinet doors remained on the hinges -- and even those that did hung
haphazardly off them, half-shredded like all the others. Plates once used for fancy dinners had long
since doubled as throwing stars, bludgeons, and the occasional impromptu knife,
with shards thrown across and through wood and tile alike. The refrigerator looked as if it took a
head-on blow from a train, spilling its contents all over the floor. It might have been a fire hazard if not for
the gash-laden walls and the wires that swung from them; those could pose a
risk just as easily. Then again,
considering the columns of smoke drifting about, fires didn’t seem to register
as much of a problem.
Jane certainly didn’t
care. She just stood her ground, scratched
up and sweat-laden, as she ran a fist past her stinging cheek. “Heh heh…you can put up a good fight. I’ll give you that much, Sheila.” She spat a few drops of blood out of her
mouth. “Guess you inherited something
from me after all.”
“Cheeky girl -- and
corny, too. Is Momma going to have to
put you in time out?”
“Now who’s being
corny?”
Jane drew herself
upright and popped her knuckles. “Count
your blessings. If I didn’t have this
hangover, you’d have your head lodged in the ceiling. Isn’t that just the worst? I’m not even at a hundred percent, and this
is the best you could do.”
Sheila snapped
upward. “O-oh yeah? Well guess what? I haven’t unlocked my full potential
yet! So there!”
“So what? I still have my secret weapon ready!”
“Well I…I…this isn’t
even my final form!”
“Out of material
already, sweet pea?”
Sheila gave a quick
retort -- a butcher knife went spinning past Jane’s ear.
“…Huh. What do you know? You throw just like your father.” She clapped a fist into her palm. “Guess that’s just one more lesson Momma’s
going to have to teach you -- along with a good, hard spanking!”
“Um, how about no?”
Sheila and Jane turned
to the living room, bringing an immediate halt to their (presumably) epic
battle. Mrs. Overdose stood on the
threshold, swishing her reed to and fro within her mouth. Of course, they couldn’t quite bring
themselves to notice, considering the shotgun barrel aimed at Sheila’s
head. “Hey there. I’m Mrs. Overdose, and I’ll be your kidnapper
today.” She tilted her head. “Well, sort of. Not like we’re goin’ all that far.”
Sheila could only
wonder how her jaw stayed on her face.
Jane didn’t; she just popped out from behind Sheila, offering a pleasant
smile and a delighted clap. “Oh, we have
new guests! I’m so glad to have you here
-- sorry the house is in such a mess, but you know how daughters can be sometimes!
Would you like some cookies?”
“Huh. You know, that’s still not the craziest mood
swing I’ve seen before, if you can believe that.”
Jane’s burst of
optimism vanished in an instant. “So I
guess you saw all that, huh? Sorry. It’s just that pain-in-the-ass daughters need
to be grounded -- preferably as
literally as possible -- before they make an even bigger mess of things.”
“Can’t say I know the
feelin’. Then again, I don’t care.” She
pushed her gun forward a few inches.
“All right, Belle. You and me are
gonna take a little walk into your room.
Better move quick, though; wouldn’t want your mom cryin’ over spilt
milk.”
“Ha. I get it,” said Jane.
Sheila whipped her head
toward her mother. “M-Mom! You’re not seriously gonna let this happen,
are you? There’s a crazy woman in our
house who’s got a gun pointed at my face!
And you’re just gonna let it happen?!”
“Yup.”
“You’re a terrible
mom!”
Jane shook her
head. “Mrs. Overdose, was it? I take it you’re one of Lloyd’s friends?”
“How did you --”
“The morning after my
daughter brings home the strangest boy I’ve ever met, the strangest
circumstances I’ve ever seen pop up in the form of the strangest gunwoman I
ever met. It doesn’t take an ace
detective to string it all together, if you ask me. Then again, my brain feels like it’s about
ready to leak out of my head, so maybe my common sense is a little on the
fritz.”
“Sounds like par for
the course to me.” Mrs. Overdose glanced
back at the hall. “Hey. Get out here already. This might be a two-woman job.”
“Do I have to?”
“Couldn’t hurt.”
Trixie sighed and
walked into the room. “I’m real sorry
‘bout all this, ma’am,” she said to Jane.
“It’s just that things kinda have a bad habit o’ gettin’ outta hand…it
ain’t like I wanna kidnap yer daughter or nothin’, but, uh, well…”
Jane raised an
eyebrow. “You know my face is over here,
right?”
“Huh wha…?” If it wasn’t for Jane’s mention, Trixie would
have kept staring at Sheila, slack-jawed and glass-eyed. “O-oh, yeah, I’m -- I’m real sorry ‘bout
that. I didn’t mean to -- it’s just that
I…I…I, uh…” And she went right back to
staring.
Ka-SOCIAL GRACES!
Mrs. Overdose walloped
Trixie in the back of her head. “Okay,
that’s enough of that,” she announced, ignoring Trixie’s outrage (and
blossoming tears). “You -- stop with the
snot-spewin’ and get a move on. I’m pretty sure you don’t want me to show
you how this gun of mine works. Billie
Jean, you take her from the front -- make sure she doesn’t try to run. I’ll get her from behind…and if she knows
what’s good for her, she won’t try to step out of line.” She didn’t bother waiting for Sheila to form
anything more than a whimper; she just slipped behind her and shoved her gun
into her back.
“Mom!” Sheila moaned at
last. “Are you really gonna let them
take me?”
“Uh-huh. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’re in good
hands. A nice, potentially-insane boy
like Lloyd is JUST what you knees!” Jane
snickered to herself. “Besides, I
wouldn’t mind seeing you get cut down to size.”
“But -- but --!”
Jane just waved goodbye
as Trixie and Mrs. Overdose led her back to her room. “See you soon, sweet pea! Enjoy your stay -- and remember, this could
have all been avoided if you hadn’t gotten expelled!”
“I should’ve used my
tear gas when I had the chance!”
“Yeah, you should
have. See you at dinner time, maybe!”
Sheila started to mouth
a few words -- some spicy ones, most likely -- but Mrs. Overdose pushed her gun
forward to reiterate the threat of a busted spine. They marched rigidly toward her room, and by
Mrs. Overdose’s prodding she stumbled inside.
Trixie had to dodge out of the way to allow it, throwing her hands up
and leaping a good three feet, but they managed their way inside. And with all the players in place, the
gunwoman shut the door behind them.
“What are you going to
do to me?” Sheila asked. Not that she
needed to; a metal chair and several feet of rope sat a few feet away. Lloyd and his chair sat right behind it, now
upright and looking like a mirror image.
“Get in the chair, or
that pretty robe of yours is gonna need a lot of rinse cycles.” She waved her gun toward the chair, and as
Sheila took a seat she jerked her head at Trixie. “And you.
Tie her up.”
“Wha- why me?”
“I can’t tie her up and
hold this gun at the same time. So
handle it.”
“But I don’t -- what if
I…ya know…what if I end up touchin’
somethin’ I shouldn’t?”
“Then you’ll be the
luckiest girl on Earth. Now let’s do
this already; I’m in the mood for a bowl of oatmeal.”
“All right. Just don’t get too trigger happy, all
right?” Trixie picked up some of the
rope, and knelt down and started wrapping Sheila’s ankles. “Sorry.
So sorry. If I’d known I was
gonna be helpin’ to make a hostage situation worse, I woulda slept in today.” Of course, she’d spoken while facing the
door, and nearly tied her hands to the chair a few times. But she pulled it off eventually, and bound
Sheila’s legs as tightly as she could.
“Huh. I figured you were good at tying up
livestock, but not this good. You’re
just full of surprises.”
Trixie frowned at
her. “Even when yer bein’ nice, it
sounds like yer makin’ fun o’ me.”
“It’s what I do. Now tie up her body. Wouldn’t want the little lady squirmin’
around on us.”
For a second it looked
as if Trixie wanted to kneel and say a prayer, but she held off; she just
started wrapping up Sheila’s stomach -- and nothing more -- as quickly as she
could, hoping her hands didn’t go too far out of line. “Really, really, really sorry about this,” she said, tightening the cord with each
pass. “Please don’t call the cops on
us.”
Sheila looked at her
calmly -- at least as calmly as one could with a shotgun aimed at their
face. “You’re Lloyd’s friends, right?”
Trixie opened her mouth
to speak, but Mrs. Overdose answered first.
“Yeah, we are. Kid’s an idiot and
a troublemaker, but I guess there ain’t a lot of words left to describe it.”
“Just friends, right?”
“I sure as hell don’t
love him. And I get the feelin’ that he
thinks the same thing. She looked past
Sheila, noting Lloyd’s purple head nearly brushing up against her orange. “I dunno if you noticed, but tryin’ to get
the kid to love you is gonna take you more years than you got in you. But then again, I’m thinkin’ that it works
both ways.”
Trixie looked up at
Mrs. Overdose. “What’re ya talkin’
about?”
“Eh, just thinkin’ out
loud. Don’t worry your pretty little
heads over it, girls.”
“But what about
Lloyd? I’m guessin’ he ain’t too keen on
lettin’ ya talk about him like that.”
Mrs. Overdose pointed
calmly at Lloyd’s head. Sure enough, it
had an uncharacteristic tilt -- likely because Lloyd himself had long since
fallen asleep. “It’s like he’s got nerves
o’ steel,” Trixie muttered.
“Not quite. He’s not just out because of one rough
night. He’s out because he knows we can
handle whatever comes our way…and we
can handle whatever job he gives us.
It’s a little thing called trust.
I’m guessin’ you’ve heard of it at least once, right?”
Trixie stood up and
stepped away from the tied-up Sheila.
“What kinda loser d’ya take me -- never mind, I prob’ly don’t want an
answer to that.” She nodded slowly. “But yeah, I hear ya. Lloyd’s countin’ on us, and I guess he’s so
willin’ to trust us that he’ll give us free range.”
“Looks like it.” Mrs. Overdose aimed her shotgun at the
ceiling and pulled the trigger.
Ka-SHELL SHOCK!
The blast brought down
whole chunks of the ceiling (and bits of the Lloyd tributes plastered atop
it). Trixie jolted aside out of reflex,
and Lloyd himself -- now fully awake, no doubt with a hammering heart -- would
have done the same if he could.
“If I’m gonna go to
work, I want my servant to do the same,” said Mrs. Overdose, ignoring the
smoking barrel and the multitude of frightened youths. “Although last time I checked, the master
shouldn’t have to do anything.”
“T-true enough,” said
Lloyd. He turned back as far as he could
to catch a glimpse of her. “But make no
mistake; I’ve no intention of violating the perceived pecking order society
holds so dear. In fact, the work -- for
a given definition of the word -- will be done solely by your loyal aide,
milady. All I ask is that you pull up a
seat and…”
“And?”
Lloyd shook his head
and forced a laugh. “Forgive me, for I
misspoke. I intend to put in a bit of
effort, yes; in reality, however, it shall be Miss O’Leary who handles the true
business of the day. I’m more than a bit
distraught that it’s come to this, but I see no better alternative. I’ve no choice but to -- as they say -- ‘get
a little rough’.”
Sheila wobbled in her
chair. “Wh-what are you going to do to
me?” she asked through cascades of snot.
“Very little in
comparison to you. Miss Walters, if you
would offer our comrade a seat? Have it
within reach of Miss O’Leary, preferably.”
“Ugh, I dunno what’s
goin’ on, pal, but…” Trixie grabbed the
remains of a Lloyd statue and dragged it in front of Sheila -- and after a
glance that lasted a bit too long for comfort, she jolted back to the wall adjacent
to her.
“Yes, that should do
it.” Lloyd bobbed his head toward Trixie. “Now then, milady. Hand off your weapon to Miss Walters, and
take a seat.”
“You want me to give my
gun to Marianne Gordon? What are you,
brain-dead? What if those deep-fried
instincts of hers kick in and she --”
“You can trust Miss
Walters,” said Lloyd. “Just as she
trusts you. Just as I trust you.”
Mrs. Overdose swished
her reed around for a moment. She
glanced at Trixie, then Sheila, and finally back to Lloyd; her grip on the gun
started to loosen, but it tightened a half-second later. “I don’t like it when other people touch my
guns. Especially when --”
“I would think that
you’d be eager to take a bit of rest, milady.
After all, I wouldn’t want any mishaps to take place while Miss O’Leary
gives you a foot rub.”
“Foot rub?!” Trixie
shouted.
“Foot rub?” Sheila
asked.
But Mrs. Overdose
didn’t say a word. She just tossed her
gun into Trixie’s hands and started to smile.
TO BE HEARTINUED…
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