Shudder (17 page)

“To things working out.” Anton said and raised his empty glass. Then he went to make some tea.

The Thursday night rain pelted the window and as the big drops exploded on the windowsill tiny sprinkles fell through the window opening, into the room, and onto the wooden floor.

Which was probably not good in the long run, but Dave preferred to have the fresh moist air coming into his room. The consequences to the floor would have to be dealt with when they came.

He was sitting at his desk, slowly chewing a sandwich from the nearby Burger Pad, and also chewing over yesterday's events. Maldiva had already gone home hours ago, but Dave had stayed in the office.

His cell phone began vibrating and making noises.

The alarm.

It was time.

He switched off his computer, closed the window and struggled with his long gray overcoat. The office buzzer rang. He opened the door and let in a wet-haired Andy. He was carrying a nylon bag.

“Hey, Dave,” he said, shaking the rain droplets from his hair. Then he quickly shoved his hand into his bag and produced various treasures.

“Motion detectors,” he said, producing half a dozen small nipples. “They vacuum stick to the walls.” He then took out a small touch screen mini-pad four inches across. “This is for you to monitor the motion detectors.”

Dave slipped it into his overcoat's pocket. Andy was already offering him the next piece of equipment. “This is a German earplug. Range eight miles, after charging works for eight hours. I just charged it.”

Dave took the skin-colored button and wedged it into his left ear.

Andy clipped another anonymous looking button below the left lapel of Dave's overcoat. “That's the microphone,” he said. “Same characteristics. Let's try it.”

Andy tapped his ear, indicating that his earplug was already inside. Dave quickly went to the other room. “Testing, testing,” he said into his lapel. “Loud and clear,” he heard deep in his left brain hemisphere.

“Jesus, not so loud man.”

“Sorry, I'll lower the sounds settings.”

* * * *

Andy remained in his car, parked thirty yards from the sex shop. Dave parked his BMW ten yards from the shop, quickly sloshed his way through the shallow puddles on the pavement and stopped below the X-SEX sign.

“I'm going in,” he said.

As he pushed the door open, a ten second recording of a lusty groan announced his arrival. Inside, a young woman with very short hair, dressed in a thick long-sleeved pseudo-lumberjack shirt raised her eyes from her latest model tooter-twatter.

On the desk in front of her two pairs of handcuffs lay by an array of small bottles and tubes.

“Hi,” she said, gave her twatter one last toot, and stood up. Dave nodded silently and looked around.

To his left was a wall with rows of colorful dildos of various sizes. To his right hung square plastic bags with kinky sex-wear. Near them was the metallic railing of a staircase which led to the lower floor.

“Can I help you find what you're looking for?” asked the girl as she walked over to Dave. He shot her a guilty glance, “Where are the umm… the dolls?”

“Oh, they are on the lower floor. This way.” She did not lead the way, she only pointed.

Dave went over to the staircase and descended to the basement level. Here too was a counter, behind which sat a young woman, who was a brunette of about twenty-eight—thirty, a thin green latex collar with small round studs on her neck.

She smiled at David, “Can I help you, Sir?”

“Uh yeah, I'm looking for—” Dave stopped. His attention was caught by a soft, long strap-on dildo, with two thin antennae of the same material attached to its base.

The girl followed his gaze and smiled, “Ah, I see you are intrigued by the Skull Dominator.”

“The what?”

“It's a very new product, but it's catching on. You see these?” She pointed at the two thin antennae.

“I certainly do.”

“They are made with anatomical precision, to fit most sizes.”

“Most sizes of what?”

“Nostrils, of course.”

Dave opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The girl picked up the transparent bag, opened it carefully, took out the dildo itself, and a folded piece of paper.

She unfolded it and on it was drawn an illustration of the dildo entering a throat, and the two thin tendrils at its base entering the nostrils, and curving downwards.

“You see, they don't go into your brain or something,” she smiled,” and anyway, it's an ancient yoga tradition.”

“What, getting tiny dildos up your nostrils?”

“Not exactly,” said the saleswoman almost chidingly, “but they
do
clean their nasal cavities with ropes. The put a rope up one nostril, and pull it out of their mouths.”

“Do they really?” Dave said and fingered one of the yielding silicone pseudopods, “but with these little dildos, don't noses get broken or something?”

“Not if you are a loving and responsible partner,” she gave him a stern look.

“Of course, of course,” he tried to think of something adequate to say. “This is only for lesbians, I suppose?” He inclined his head towards the strap-on.

“Yes, and for submissive men in a heterosexual relationship,” she said, looking him in the eye. “We also have cock-rings with added nasal dildos, so that you can feel the throat of your loved one around your penis and still give them the added overwhelming pleasure of having every possible hole filled up.”

As she was reciting this, she held up a purple plastic cock-ring with two thin tentacles hanging from it.

“I'm sure, no doubt.” Dave looked away.

“Ahem,” a voice said in his left ear.

“Yeah, yeah,” muttered Dave absently, as if to himself, while he checked out this part of the shop.

While upstairs was the colorful and well-lit part, with candy colored dildos and sexy clothes, down here the dungeon esthetics were put to strong use. Black leather costumes hung from the ceiling in one corner, boots, corsets, and long gloves decorated angular mannequins. Whips, handcuffs, and various masks lay on the shelves. A few thick, black dildos lurked in the shadows.

Dave looked at the girl and pinched his nose, “I'm looking for a cyber-toy for home.”

“Oh, I must tell you, that we only have one type left but it's on a discount.”

“Really? Which type?”

“The fifth-grader cyberpunk girl.”

“With a discount you say? I'll take it.”

The girl walked over to the shadowy corner, unabashed by the towering artificial dongs, and pulled back a small latex curtain. Behind it were stacked a few four foot boxes.

She maneuvered the top one to standing position and beckoned to Dave. He beetled over to her.

From behind the transparent lid of the box a girl of a mixed race looked back at him. She was almost a Latina, almost Asiatic, and almost Caucasian.

The designers had tried to hit as many rabbits as possible with one bullet.

“Would you like to see the black version?” asked the sales clerk as she started working the box lid open.

“No need, thank you. I'll take that one. I like it.”

After paying on the lower floor and wishing the upstairs girl a good night, Dave went back out into the rain and into his BMW.

He lingered in front of the car for some seconds, just to give the mysterious someone a good chance to realize what he had bought, put the big box on the back seat, and drove off.

So far nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“How's it looking on your side?” he asked his lapel button.

“Still nothing, still nothing, ah,” the voice said in his ear.

“What do you mean—ah?”

“There's a scooter following you, I think. Th-th-there, now I'm following the scooter.”

Dave saw a far speck of light in his side view mirror, “Okay, I think I see it.”

He drove for twelve minutes in the sparse late traffic. Kamikaze rain drops flung themselves at the front windows and after the resulting miniscule explosions streamed downwards—a thousand tiny, short-lived streams that blurred the lights of the nighttime city.

Sometimes a surf of rainwater would rise for a second from under one of the wheels. The tiny headlight remained in his mirror.

Not so mysterious now that people know that they should be on the lookout,
Dave thought
. A total amateur actually
.

He reached his home and parked.

Dave got out of the driver's seat, opened the back door, and took out the box with the toy. He thought he heard a scooter park somewhere in the shadows.

The rain drops drummed on him, on the roof of his car, and on the box in his hands.

Whistling like a very guilty person, Dave opened the door of the block's foyer, and went up into his apartment via the elevator.

Once at home, he switched on all the lights, to make it easier for an outside observer to figure out on which floor and on which side he resided.

He then waited for five minutes, sitting at the kitchen table and looking at the box.

This was a mid-level toy, which spoke two hundred sentences in eight languages and could play the part of an innocent victim; a dirty and willing victim; a willing virgin; a daughter; and a niece.

He took the girl out of the box and plugged her in. It was supposed to take three hours to charge her up for a night's session.

He tried to read the instructions but couldn't concentrate. He crumpled the piece of paper impatiently and stood up.

“I'm going out now, into the direction of the twenty-four seven.”

“Do it,” said Andy's voice, “I'm close, watching.”

Dave fixed the motion sensors in unobtrusive corners of the walls and walked out of his apartment, locking only the lower lock. He turned towards the shop.

“Well?” he asked after a few yards.

“Nothing yet. Keep walking until you turn the corner.”

“I'm there. Anything?”

“No, nothing. Ah, here it is.”

“Infrared?”

“Yeah, glowing like a human. Small, though. Just went into the block's entrance.”

“Okay, I'm coming over.”

“Do it, I'm keeping watch here.”

Dave hurried back to his bleak high-rise, raising a mist of rainwater with his shoes. His attention though, was focused entirely on the tiny screen which he held. It was now active.

“I'm getting my motion detectors data, the perp's at my home door.”

“Want us to go get him?”

“No, let's wait. Woop. The kitchen detectors went off, he's in the kitchen.”

Five minutes passed.
How long does it take to dismember a toy-girl,
wondered Dave.
What if we miss him on his way out somehow?
He stood at the corner of the building, struggling with the desire to run to his home. Then the little screen lit up again. “The front door detectors again, he's coming out.”

“I'm coming,” Andy said and appeared at a run almost instantaneously. He took out his gun and nodded at Dave. Dave approached the door, preparing to swing it open, but the lights inside suddenly switched on, glowing mutedly through the thick reinforced glass. Someone was already about to open the door from the inside. A shadow grew.

Dave took a step back and Andy leveled his gun at the door.

The door swung open.

Mrs. Timmons trotted out with her rounded old pug shivering and snorting through its steaming runny nose.

Her eyes fixed on Andy's gun before he could hide it.

“Help,” she screamed, and grabbed her precious dog with surprising alacrity, cradling it to her bosom.

Dave waved at Andy to follow him and ran into the building. Mrs. Timmons had just blown their chance of surprise.

Inside, he immediately heard steps—receding steps—someone was running up the stairs.

Their prey.

“Stop, stop or we'll shoot,” he shouted as he jumped over three steps at a time, trying to gain on the unknown fugitive. He heard Andy right behind him.

They ran up two floors, grinding into dust paint flakes from the unmaintained walls, squashing cigarette stubs, and crushing the incidental syringe.

Then Dave suddenly saw a leg flash for a second at the turn of the stairs.

They had gained—the perp was now just yards away.

With a blood-curdling shout, he put his whole energy into one final push, turned the corner and saw a small figure at the top of the flight of stairs.

The detective lunged with outstretched hands and felt his fingers close on fabric. Staggering, he pulled the fabric at himself, feeling it yield. In a moment the small figure was in his grasp; a whirlwind of arms and legs, kicking and scratching.

“Let me go, let me go,” a child's voice screamed as the detective barely held on to the struggling body. “Let me go. I hate you. Let me go.”