Bad II the Bone (36 page)

“A rum and raisin ice cream!”

“Near death experiences give you the munchies then?”

“I wouldn’t know. This is my first real brush with death. I fe
el strangely sexy though. Weird, right?”

Shaft gulped.

“Let’s see what happens next time.” Y ruminated.

“Next time?” Shaft asked. “That sounds ominous. Is there g
oing to be a next time?”

“I’ve just got a feeling we’re not done yet.”

“So about feeling sexy and the ice-cream?” Shaft asked sheepishly. “On our way back from the hospital, we can attempt the impossible.”

Y nodded.

“Let’s make it interesting. If you can find rum and raisin ice cream, you can tuck me in tonight.”

Without thinking further Shaft blurted out.

“So this night has not completely gone to hell in a handcart, after all. You have a deal.”

Y grinned.

With a new found spurt of energy, Shaft helped Patra to her feet. She leaned on his left side and Y on his right and they hobbled through the emergency exit and debris like the walking wounded to the sanity of the world outside.

Epilogue

Hanger Lane gyratory, West London has been known as Britain’s scariest junction for good reason but tonight it was eerily quiet as a panel van pulled into a parade of shops – flung out from the orbit of the roundabout. There the filming started:

The naked man, eyes and mouth bound, forehead marked with the chalky symbols of an inhibitor spell, squirming in an o
ffice chair that he was tightly strapped to with packaging tape, was being bungled out of the van by two balaclava clad figures. Tyrone – tonight’s victim - had obviously gone through all the stages of being a captive in his mind. First there was disbelief, acceptance and then he was now occupying the zone of sheer terror as his predicament became clear. Well that was what his facial expressions were saying because elsewhere on his anatomy was a whole different story. Baby boy had a raging erection that poked through his bounds and either the turn on was to come or it had occurred previously and the memory stoked his passion, fear and anger. Whatever it was he was a man in conflict as he thrashed and swore. The mobile camera footage was a good resolution capturing the abduction clearly but with the instability many experimental directors tended to use for its realness a la Blair Witch and Paranormal Activity movies. They pushed him along a strangely deserted sidewalk and then onto the gyratory. High pitched grunts accompanied the chair being lowered onto a four lane roadway, precariously pushed and then left on a pedestrian island in its centre. The picture became blurred, a frenzy of motion and sound then after some minutes, clarity.

The final shot showed the bound man’s gag removed, his mouth so wide as he screamed his uvula was dangling at the back of his throat, lips in a pretty shade of
cock sucking red and plastered all over his body were flyers of his face with the heading ’Most Wanted Thief And Scum’.

Pause.

The YouTube link was sent to approximately fifty thousand women across the globe, avid subscribers to the runaway success -
Bitches & Ballers
blog. Outside of its uncompromising title it struck a chord with its users to such an extent that the numbers rose steadily as women everywhere – and some men too - wanted to vicariously experience the ups and downs of the phenomenon of Bad II the Bone. Today was special.

Today their blog
had a triumphant air to it. A thank you to its enthusiastic subscribers and a fuck you for all who thought they would be pushovers.

It read like this:

Dear Sisterhood

In our very first blog 3 weeks ago we introduced ourselves, began sharing our life with you and, without knowing you as we know you now, we asked for your help.

You heard what we had to say and felt our pain by lending us your blessings and support. After everything we’ve been through - I won’t spoil next week’s thrilling issue - ours and your patience has paid off.

The snake thought he could get away with ripping us off. Trying to destroy what we worked so hard to achieve and then find another unsuspecting candidate and wreck their lives too. You saw this was a righteous cause as much as we did and for all the messages of sightings you pinpointed his whereabouts, thanks. But our mystery benefactor didn’t just find him but went the extra mile, presenting us with a gift that was more appreciated than chocolate under the Christmas tree.

We have attached a video file for your viewing pleasure and let us just say thank you to all the friends, homies and spars, who backed us. And to the cocksuckers, feisty whores and wanksters who condoned his actions and thought he would bounce
back better think again. As we speak a viral smear campaign has been launched against him with his identity completely wiped from government records courtesy of the world famous lady hacker Sexyprincess1. Before it can be pulled by YouTube the footage above has been played over a quarter of a million times.

Ha-ha!

So for now all is well in the world. Spokes has left us his Sussex mansion to oversee – our new headquarters – while he experiences pastures new. Whether you believe our stories to be true or not, whether we are on the up and up or just full of shit, we are just glad you are taking the journey – fact or fiction - with us.

We are magnets for the weird, creepy and unexplained it seems but if we can use our knowledge to help then this is all worth it. Keep sending your requests, questions and support.

And remember what is strange to you, is straight business to us. We wouldn’t have it any other way.

Stay weird.

Y, Patra and Suzy Wong

Bad II the Bone

THE END

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Anton Marks first novel began a trend of bestsellers that would transport readers to the ghettoes of Kingston Jamaica in
Dancehall
, futuristic London –
In the Days of Dread
, government agents in
Bushman
  and the futuristic world of vice in –
69
.

Hi
s next offering will be a young adult fantasy novel entitled –
The Last Prince of Alkebulahn
. Expect great things as the Marksman continues writing the most creative and exciting novels in the new Urban Fantastic genre.

www.anton-marks.com