The Spiral

The Spiral by Mr Flannery

The Smoking Barrel was at low ebb. To late for the after-work crowd, and too early for the late-night rabble-rousers. Scattered men, single and in groups, kept the background noise low. Sal, the bartender, was idly refilling the little undercounter dishwasher in preparation for a full night of yelling, spills, and fights. Lunette wondered why every bar like this had a bartender named Sal. It almost seemed prerequisite to being a true 'rough place'. If you named a kid Sal, what sort of future did they have ahead of them?

She glanced down at her drink. No matter how many she was exposed to, no matter how hard she tried to get used to it, no matter how often she reminded herself that the ingredients determined the color of the spirit, she thought that whiskey looked like piss, and nothing was going to change her mind. She hated whiskey, especially the Old Fashioned that she was often forced to drink with her consort for the evening. She watched the ice cubes spin lazily in the dark, tobacco-stained liquid, and supressed a shudder. It was going to be one of those nights.

Another glance down her decolletage confirmed that this wasn't going to be an easy one. She could picture herself in her mind, because she knew what he wanted. Cleaned up, she would probably be quite the glamorous looker, but she could see the little telltale signs that showed what he truly wanted. The dress was cut too low, the hem was cut too high, the makeup was applied too thick, and the figure... even cosmetic surgery would be hard-pressed to get an hourglass like that out of a born-and-bred American girl. She could feel the outer slopes of her burgeoning chest brush against her biceps as she tried to adjust her dress, to no avail. Rico's hand was there a moment later, pushing it back up.



"What did I tell you, missy? Huh? Leave it up. The fuck's the good of a body like that if you gonna hide it on me, eh?"

She sighed. "You can hardly say I'm hiding jack shit in this dress," she said softly, French accent coming through her attempts to sound appropriately Italian for the man. "Red crinoline with black trim? Who is zis girl, a fucking lingerie model?"

Rico's arm spasmed, and she flinched, which immediately drew a chuckle from Rico. "That's hardly proper language to be coming out of such a pretty mouth, is it? I know you don't bruise right, so you had better try to stay on my good side, and my good side says you ain't drinking your damn drink, ok?"

She took a deep breath, and part of her withdrew into herself, fled from the night that stretched ahead of her. She picked up the glass, and sipped it, the well-practiced smile plastered onto her lips. Insincerity didn't play through when the men wanted her to look like this... she was insincere from head to toe. They got off on it. They always did. The tears didn't even try to come anymore.

It burned down her throat, and soon it would help her block everything out. As far as blessings went, she no longer found it odd that she preferred her consorts to be raging alcoholics. With any luck, they wouldn't even make it out of the bar tonight.

The front door, a heavy oak slab, squealed as someone new entered. The newcomer wasn't a regular, she was sure... she spent enough nights drinking and flirting to know just about every semi-regular joe in the county. He was big, he was greying, and he was dressed simply in jeans and a black t-shirt. There wasn't even a pattern on the shirt, not even a simple band logo. He clearly didn't know what bar he was in, but he clearly didn't care. She hoped he behaved. She loathed violence. It angried up the blood, as her father used to say, and a sly glance at Rico confirmed she didn't want that happening to anyone tonight.

The man sat at the bar, and after a brief discussion with Sal that involved the posturing 'low-talk' she had come to associate with made men, ordered a beer and a tumbler of scotch. She realized she'd been staring only a moment before she was very firmly reminded with the hand that still rested on her thigh tightened like a vise. Her back stiffened, but she didn't make a sound. Experience kept her quiet.

"And why, missy, and you staring at someone other than me? You's mine for tonight, remember?"

"Do you know you always talk in questions?" she said with a sweet smile, glaring at him. "Is it because you don't know the answer to anything?"

The hand squeezed again, sausage-like fingers digging into her soft flesh. A thick nail snagged a nerve, and her leg spasmed, kicking the table. Their drinks rattled, and the pressure eased as eyes turned to them. Rico was a very large man, in a very large black suit, with very large gold jewellery everywhere he could get it to stick to his greasy skin, but he didn't like a lot of attention. She shuddered inside as his hand instead moved slightly higher on her thigh, pushing her already ridiculously short skirt up more.

"You made me do that," he said slowly, careful not to end it in a question mark. Lunette nodded. "You want me to enjoy myself tonight, don't you? You know what happens if you don't do a good job." She nodded again.

"I am sorry. I don't know what I was thinking, m'sieur," she said softly, eyes downcast. She saw Rico smile from the corner of her eye, and in her mind, the image changed. The eyes became bigger, the makeup became darker, and the shoulders seemed to slouch a little bit... a loss of confidence, a loss of innocence. She felt herself slouch, and it wasn't entirely against her will. She reached out, took the glass, and burned another mouthful down her throat. Rico chuckled again.

His eyes crawled all over her, and his hand was now entirely under the edge of her dress, which resembled little more than a satin slip now. His beringed pinky finger was rubbing roughly at the black thong panties that she hated so. Rico's breathing came slightly faster, and Lunette could see that they weren't getting out of the bar tonight. It would be another drink, maximum, and then a trip back upstairs, like so many nights. Rico's eyes definitely weren't on hers anymore. She put her hand on his to draw his attention, and then tilted her head resignedly, looking at the only thing of even remote interest... the new guy.

He sipped his beer, and periodically washed it down with a swig of the scotch. He was reading a newspaper that he'd gotten from somewhere. He was supremely uninterested in whatever was going on in the rest of the bar, and uninterested in her. That alone piqued her interest. She knew that, thanks to Rico, she was a knockout, although a knockout who looked like she'd seen better days. Her body was exceptionally voluptuous, made all the more obvious by her negligible clothing. Any guy with a healthy libido would be staring at her, and many of the regs were, surreptitiously. New Guy, whoever he was... wasn't.

She focused on him, to see what he Wanted. She'd been able to do that since she was young, too young to know what it was she was seeing. She could see what men Wanted, what women Wanted. People she'd never met before, people she'd known for years, what they Wanted for one night, what they Wanted for every night. Often it was nothing dramatic, just something special and specific. Sometimes it was slightly unreal, as her current bosom indicated. Sometimes it was downright fantastical, such as when Mr Black visited her, or some of the family men who hadn't been outed yet liked.

Her eyes widened slowly as she focused harder on New Guy. Her breathing quickened slightly, completely detatched from what Rico was doing to her, or what he thought he was doing to her. She saw grey... she saw void. It was like a gentle breeze on a cool night. It was like turning off all the lights in an empty room. There was no Want. This person, whoever he was, did not Want anything, least of all from her. To her, he might as well have not been there.

"Tabernac," she murmured softly to herself. Rico grunted, finishing his drink. She could feel the whiskey already working on her, dulling her senses against Rico's futile ministrations. She hadn't met anyone who was so blank since she was in elementary school, and that hadn't lasted long. Her tearful confession and gratitude quickly gave way to abuses and blackmail, but she had come to one conclusion over the last five years: the abuse of one man was easier than the misogyny of legions.

Rico, apparently satisfied that he had driven Lunette wild with desire, grabbed her wrist and stood up. "I think it's time we retired for the evening, eh?" he said, his black and frighteningly outdated disco pants tented at the crotch with his own obvious intentions. Lunette, slight as she was, was dragged to her feet. Past Sal, behind the bar, an unlit staircase led to the offices and apartment above the bar, if her home could be called an apartment, or even a home, for that matter. She followed, resisting slightly enough that the space between them slowly grew as Rico headed impatiently for the stairs. They drew closer to New Guy, and she sized him up. Big guy, big arms, maybe late thirties, early forties. Rico mauled people for a living, but she was past the point of overthinking taking chances with someone else's life.

"STOP IT!" she cried, digging in her heels just a few feet past the man at the bar. Rico didn't slow down at first, and she was jerked roughly forwards, banging her legs against a bar stool and knocking it noisily to the floor. The entire room became instantly silent. Some of the regulars watched with amusaed interest, Sal stared with the apathetic amazement that only the truly cynical can achieve, and the new guy... his head turned slightly, and his eyes flickered towards them. It wasn't his problem, she knew it wasn't his problem. Her problems were just starting.

"Whaddafuck did you just say, missy?" Rico said, moving slowly, showing that his infinite patience was being sorely taxed, and that Lunette should be grateful he was still behaving. "Whendafuck do you get to say stop?"

"Âne violant le mangeur de merde!" she yelled angrily, pulling back uselessly against the much larger man. "I'm not going up there. Not with you, not tonight!"

Rico smiled. It was a slow, spreading, predatory grin that chilled her bones. "You know what happens when you don't do what you're told like a good little bitch, don't you? You know what I get to do if you don't know your place?"

Time to lay it on thick, she decided. It was easy to get the tremulous note into her voice... indeed, it would be hard to keep it out now. "Non, non, Rico, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I didn't, please, non..." She continued to try to backtrack, her elbow knocking over glasses and stacks of coasters on the bar. Some of the regulars were pointing and chuckling, and Sal just rolled his eyes. She may have gambled wrong, and her heart fluttered helplessly. She was in for it tonight, that was for sure.

She stopped resisting, righting herself as Rico pulled her close. The glint in his eye was almost feral now, and she saw his cheek twitch as he raised his heavy left hand. It was loosely curled, and she didn't know if it was going to be open ot closed when he swung it. It didn't matter, in the long run. She tried to keep her eyes open, but it was reflex now; if she tried to be brave, they only made it worse. She clenched her eyes, and turned her head slightly so that it wouldn't deflect and tear her skin open.

The hand that roughly gripped her wrist jerked as he swung from the hip, and she was pulled closer, pulled into the blow. She idly wished that Rico had preferred plumper girls... it usually softened the impacts. She held her breath, waiting for the inevitable crunch, and the fireworks against the black backdrop of her closed eyes. She gasped as an ear-splitting smack swept through the room, but it took her a moment to realize she registered no pain.

She cracked her eyes open, and was immediately beset with the image of a huge forearm extended out past her shoulder. A few inches from her face, an equally huge hand held Rico's closed fist as surely as honey held a fly. Lunette turned slightly, her hair brushing the heavy arm, and she saw the black t-shirt, the broad shoulders, and the expressionless face of the New Guy. His short, greying hair, his big blue eyes, his tanned and rough-skinned face, it all filled her vision. She stopped breathing, afraid that she might wake up.

Rico grunted, and shook his arm like a dog who had gotten stuck in a trap. The muscles in New Guy's arm seemed to writhe beneath the skin as the two struggled, but Lunette didn't bother to look at Rico. She didn't care if she never looked at him ever again. She flinched slightly, though, as the two men separated, and the big arm was pulled back swiftly, blowing her hair back in the process. She hesitantly took a step back, and then three more quickly put her behind her burly protector, who, as yet, had not said a word.

Rico's eyes widened in surprise and, a moment later, blistering rage. "Who the fuck are you, asshole? Do you know who I am? Do you know where you are?!"

New Guy just stood there implacably, and Lunette began to allow herself the luxury of thinking that she might get out of the bar with her life.

"I know where we are, and I don't care who you are. All I know is, you don't treat women like that." His voice was deep, and rock steady. Lunette didn't know who she was, either, but she was flush with excitement at the ease with which he carried himself. He still Wanted for nothing, even after rescuing her. She found herself perversely curious as to what this man could possibly be like, to not be attracted to her current body.

"The fuck I don't, dipshit."

There was a click, and Lunette cried out when she turned to see Sal holding a very large, very black pistol, aimed squarely at New Guy's back. There was more rustling and she turned in time to see Rico draw a wicked-looking switchblade from his coat. It opened with a snick, a sound she knew all too well. Her breath started to come in shuddering gasps, and all hope fled. "Merde, nous allons mourir..." she moaned softly.

"Non," the New Guy said, and she swore she could hear him smile.

"Ok, Connor, just... just get out now," Sal said, gesturing to the door. "Lunette, you get the fuck upstairs before you get in serious trouble. Run along, now."

Lunette clung to New Guy's... Connor's arm, but only for a moment, pressing her spectacular breasts to his heavy bicep. He was dead for sure if she didn't leave now, and there was still a chance that he was going to get killed anyways. This was a protected bar, and half of the people in the room were at least indirectly on the mafia payroll.

"I'm so sorry," Lunette whispered sadly, as she inched her way towards the stairwell. Rico was holding the knife out, inches from Connor's chest, and Sal still had his gun out. Everyone else in the room seemed on the verge of drawing weapons, but they wanted to see what would happen next.

Connor raised his hands, and took a step back, following Lunette's footsteps. "All right, all right... you guys want me out of here, fine. I'll leave." Another step took him closer to Sal. Lunette looked around frantically, fearfully. She was in serious trouble, and she had just possibly gotten this nice man.

"No no no, you.... you stick around a minute," Rico said, moving closer, smiling again. "We wanna talk to you."

Lunette didn't realize she'd stopped moving until Connor bumped into her. She squeaked, bounced off of a barstool, and fell over, landing hard on her overly-plush bottom. Sal and Rico both glance down, briefly distracted, but Lunette herself, still staring at Connor, saw what was coming. Striking like a viper, Connor's right fist snapped out, driving hard knuckles into the back of Rico's hand. The fingers flew open and the knife whizzed accross the room. She didn't know where it landed, because she was too entranced watching Connor's other fist fly backwards, seemingly a blind shot, driving into Sal's fingers, mashing them into the pistol. A shot rang out, deafening at such close range, and several bottles at the far end of the bar exploded. Sal cried out, the gun falling from his damaged hand. Lunette hadn't even had time to blink, so she did so while she had the chance.

The regulars stood up quickly, reaching for concealed weapons, but Connor stopped them with a bellowed "STOP!" He threw his open hands into the air, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. Everyone froze, and even Lunette found herself becoming motionless. Her breathing started again, though, her magnificent chest heaving.

"I just.... want to leave," he said as Rico and Sal massaged their hands. "Me, and the girl. We're going. You're letting us. Your boss would like that."

The bar was silent for several seconds. The regulars seemed to be waiting for instructions, Rico seemed to be deciding what to do, and Sal was slowly inching backwards. Connor eventually looked down at Lunette and raised an eyebrow. "This is where you stand up."

"OH! Mais oui!" She bounded to her feet, her overstressed dress hiking up at the thighs and pulling tight across the bust. "I... oh my God, I... I'm sorry..."

"Later," Connor said, nudging her with his elbow towards the door. Hands still in the air, Connor walked backwards, Lunette scampering in front of him. She held the door open, and as Connor walked through, she flipped Rico off and slammed it shut.

The cold night air was a shock. She hadn't been outside in nearly three weeks. Too many of her dates had gotten as far as the bar, and then headed right back upstairs. There was yelling from inside the bar, angry yelling, but she registered it only dimly. She looked around once quickly, but the street was empty, except for her, and her rescuer. She looked up at him, nearly a foot taller, and he looked down at her, impassively. His facial expression changed to surprise and shock, though, when she hurled herself into the air, wrapped her arms hard around his neck, and planted the most authentic, passionate kiss she could ever remember giving anyone. Despite the massive size difference, he took a step back against the soft assault.

"Thank you, thank you, merci, merci," she said between kisses, panting slightly as she struggled for breath around her frenzied appreciation. She stopped, ans simply stared into his eyes, when she felt his strong, calloused hands grip her elbows firmly, and pry her off of him. He set her down gently, but still did not smile, or frown.

"They're going to be out here in a second, with more guns," he said, not unkindly, guiding her along the deserted sidewalk lit by dim, flickering streetlights. She nodded, moving her feet to keep up with him.

"Which car is yours?" she asked, kicking off her shoes so she could actually walk. Her outfit and general appearance made her look like a street walker, but she had to try to get a ride at least to the edge of town. She had no money, but she would be gorgeous at least for another few hours, and she knew how to get money on short notice.

He glanced at her as they walked. "Do you need a ride?" he asked wryly. They passed several cars, but still didn't stop.

"Please, monsieur, I can't go back there, please, I just need a ride to the bus station, maybe, I can go from zere, please..."

He nodded and waved away her pleading with his hands. "Fine, fine. I wouldn't have stepped in there and just left you out here to your own devices. And don't go to the bus station, they'll be looking for you."

She nodded, her eyes welling up. Where COULD she go? By morning she would quite literally be herself again, and they knew what that looked like. "Do you even have a car?" she asked, a little panicked now. They finally rounded a corner, and Connor reached out and flipped up the handle on the passenger side of the last car she would have expected him to drive.

"Zis is yours?" she asked, practically jumping into the passenger seat. She didn't know exactly what make or model it was, but she'd watched enough television to recognize a muscle car when she saw it. It was the size of some of the largest Cadillacs the family used, but it was entirely swept forwards and seemed ready to leap from the curb. It was an eye-wrenching shade of purple, made all the more strange by the flickering streetlights, with a huge chrome blower bursting from the hood. The entire vehicle screamed 'Must go faster'.

Connor smiled a little bit for the first time, and hopped into the driver's seat. "Driving is a hobby of mine," he said, starting the vehicle with a roar. It was softened, muted inside the car, but her insides still rumbled, and not entirely from the excitement and fear of the previous few minutes. Within seconds, they were blocks away. After a few more turns, he slowed down to just over the speed limit, and for the first time since she had gotten dressed that night, she was relaxed.

She turned to face him, and even though she had thanked him profusely already, her voice hitched when she tried to properly articulate it. He had just risked his life, several times, to save a complete stranger. How did one say thanks for that? "I... I just...." She stopped, and sniffled once, a single tear sliding down her cheek. What could she say?

He turned to her, and sighed. "It's ok. I didn't mean to get into a fight with the mafia tonight, but hey, I didn't plan a lot of things in my life."

She nodded. "You... you knew who zey were?"

"Yeah. Pretty obvious, really, even from the outside, but a drink's a drink, right?"

"Yeah."

They drove on in silence. The semi-industrial neighborhood gave way to more commercial fronts. "Where are we going?"

"You're coming to my place tonight. We can't put you anywhere right now where you'd be safe."

"Your... are you sure? You... you don't even know me."

He looked at her, and smiled, a genuine smile. "It's the least I can do, right? I have a spare room, some clothes you can borrow. You're a little conspicuous, dressed like that."

She looked down, her superlative cleavage filling her vision, shadows sliding silkily along her skin as they drove. "Yeah, I am." She was scared once again, though. By morning, she would be herself again, and then how would she explain it? There was nothing for it, she'd have to sneak out while he slept. It was for his own good.

Her chest tightened, though. She couldn't just skip out on him. He had rescued her, he had been her knight in a black cotton t-shirt. The least he could do, he had said. He was too nice for her, to gallant and polite by far. She could thank him, she decided, and she'd even enjoy it, if it was from the heart.

Her hand strayed across the front seat of the car, over his leg and into his lap. He still Wanted for nothing, but she could almost catch glimpses of something in his mind, something female. Tragedy might have befallen him, and now he blocked out all thoughts of desire, but even the toughest, most ascetic men liked some things. She squeezed his crotch, fingers expertly snagging the zipper, but she squealed in surprise when his hand snatched hers with lightning speed, holding it out at arm's length.

"HEY!" he cried, his face actually... fearful. "Hey, whoa. I didn't help you out back there just to get cheap favors, ok? God damn, I mean... keep your clothes on for one night, ok? Damn."

She pulled her arm back, and sat in her seat, chastised, demure. She couldn't even do that for him. She couldn't do anything else for anyone, and now she couldn't even reach the one man who treated her as something more than an object. Another tear, now of sadness, fell from her eye, splashing and vanishing between her breasts. Maybe she could go back. She had a life, such as it was, back there...

He turned onto the old highway that carried them up into the hills on the edge of town. He kept looking at her, and seemed about to speak, but he never did. They drove on, in silence. The streetlights became farther apart, and eventually vanished altogether, leaving the stars above and the headlights as the only illumination. They passed by small houses on big lots, not yet touched by the inevitable urban sprawl of the town below. Lunette's head snapped up when they eventually slowed, and turned into a long gravel driveway that led to a small two-storey family home tucked back in amongst the evergeens.

"Well... we're here," he said quietly as the engine died.

(End - Chapter 1)