The Tribes, Chapter 7

It was clear that The Leader and his band of wackos were headed towards Los Angeles. Ryan had hoped to get about twenty or so miles ahead of them and warn some of the small communities – if nothing else, whatever residents still there might be able to hide out until after The Leader and his horde had passed through. But, their delays were just too time consuming. The first three communities they tried to warn had already been raided –Ryan and Tina had no idea how many of the flu survivors had joined The Leader, or been forced into their service. All they knew is that those who refused or resisted had been tortured horribly. Some were left bound to lampposts, some staked out in the grass of the town squares. All had been emasculated. Neither Ryan nor Tina could bear to leave the bodies unburied, even though they lost even more precious time in cutting the remains down and digging graves.

After the third round of digging graves for the mutilated victims of The Leader, Ryan stared moodily into the campfire outside the tent, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. Sitting next to him, Tina could see how disappointed Ryan was that they hadn’t managed to get ahead of the Brotherhood. Finally, Ryan sighed sadly and announced that the only smart thing for them to do was stay on the highway and head straight for Los Angeles. He felt as if he was abandoning the residents of the other small communities. Tina pointed out gently that reaching the communities too late to offer a warning wasn’t any better an option, either.

“You’re right,” Ryan admitted. “Still, I feel like such a shit bypassing all those communities and not giving them any warning.” He helped himself to more coffee, sitting back down with a resigned sigh. “At least the Tribes in Los Angeles have to be better than that Leader jerk – maybe they’ll be able to stand up against him.”

“You think so?” Tina asked, her voice full of nervous concern.

“Sure,” Ryan said with assurance. “I bet the Tribes are all united there by now. They probably already have some form of government and rules and stuff in place now. They won’t be afraid to punch The Leader’s ticket. You watch and see.”

Ryan immediately felt better after reassuring Tina that things were better in Los Angeles, and for the first time in weeks was able to get a good night’s sleep. If he had known how wrong he was, he certainly wouldn’t have slept well – if at all.

Zoot, backed by six of his personal guard, strode down the dark streets in the Sector One Free Zone of The City – the Tribes had stopped using the name Los Angeles months before. The Free Zones were the buffer blocks between Tribe territories where anyone was free to come and go without paying tribute, free from fear of attack. That was the theory, anyway. In truth, the larger and more powerful Tribes exacted protection fees from those daring enough to try to open barter shops.

Most of the barter shops traded cans of food and bottled water– most of dubious quality – for batteries, clothing, and the rare fresh eggs or fish. Those items were the new currencies of the post-flu world – they were the only ones that really had any worth now. Individuals and the small gangs ran the shops as a way to stave off starvation for another week or so. If it wasn’t for the exorbitant tributes demanded by the major Tribes, the operators of the barter shops might actually be able to turn a tidy profit in the new currencies. Most of the barter shop operators knew enough to have their tributes ready when they saw one of the Locos appear. Some needed a little more persuasion.

Zoot was good at persuasive intimidation. It wasn’t his size – he was only about average height and build. Everyone knew of his abilities as a street fighter – in the early days as he forged the Loco Tribe, there had been legendary fights for dominance. The fact that Zoot survived all the fights was enough to give him a frightening status. Once established as the unchallenged leader of one of the mightiest Tribes in The City, Zoot was enough of a showman to realize he needed to look intimidating as well as be intimidating. A black band was painted across his face from temple to temple; giving his eyes a deep-sunken, merciless skull-like look. The sides and back of his head were shaved to the skin in a high fade, only the top of his head was covered in long slicked back blonde hair with a high, razor straight part in it. His uniform was a mix and match of a London Bobby’s high-necked police tunic over a tan epauletted shirt. Black parachute pants were tucked neatly into tall Doc Martin boots. Topping the ensemble off was a black SS officer’s cap, complete with death’s head skull.

Tonight, Zoot had decided to go out collecting tributes himself – he had been hearing rumors of a new club that had opened in the Free Zone. If the rumors were true, the Devil Dogs Tribe was supporting the club. That bothered Zoot – by agreement, he was entitled to all tributes in Sector One’s Free Zone. It didn’t matter who supported the barter shops – nobody operated in his Zone without paying tribute.

It wasn’t hard finding the club – crowds of people were streaming in one direction. Pushing his way through the crowds, Zoot and his guards soon found the club with the exotic name of Inferno. Street performers were keeping the milling crowds entertained. There were jugglers and fire-eaters. Periodically, the fire-eaters would spit out impressive gouts of flame – almost like a dragon’s fiery breath. Zoot nodded appreciatively – whoever was running Inferno knew how to put on a good show.

Reaching the entrance, Zoot found his way blocked by a large steroid-enhanced bouncer. Smiling, Zoot looked the big goon over. Bare-chested, the bouncer’s inflated muscles were on public display as a warning to anyone foolish enough to cause problems. A bat-wing collar and bow tie tightly circled his neck making him look like one of those male strippers from the pre-flu days. Steel rings pierced each nipple and his septum. The brilliant, parrot green Mohawk running down the center of his head stood at least three inches high.

“Wotcha got to trade?”

“Trade?” Zoot asked. “I’m not here to trade, I’m here to go inside.”

“Gotta have sumpin to trade to get in,” the bouncer growled. “Think of it as a cover charge.”

“Okay,” Zoot smiled. “How about I trade you the chance to stay on one piece. Is that good enough to get me and my friends in?”

The bouncer just smiled. One of his pleasures in life was inflicting pain on others. He was easily twice as big as Zoot – his smile increased as he imagined the amount of pain he was going to dish out. The smile disappeared in an instant as Zoot’s foot and hands lashed out with lightening fast speed. The toe of his Doc Martin’s came up under the bouncer’s kneecap, displacing it moments before Zoot brought the heel of the heavy boot down onto the bouncer’s foot. The sound of cracking bones carried clearly across the street. Both of Zoot’s index fingers slipped neatly through the nipple rings, twisting and pulling in one fluid motion. He let the muscle bound bouncer experience an exquisite pain for a few heartbeats before jerking each hand down and out, savagely ripping the steel rings through the bouncer’s sensitive nipples.

Messages were finally reaching the bouncer’s steroid numbed brain that serious damage had been done to his knee and foot moments before the new pain in his chest made itself known. Unable to support his bulk, the bouncer’s destroyed knee began buckling when Zoot grabbed the septum ring and mercilessly began twisting it. When the bouncer was blubbering like a girl, Zoot decided he had made his point. He jerked his hand again, pulling the ring from the bouncer’s nose – the cartilage and skin ripping audibly. Blood fountained from the bouncer’s ruined nose as he rolled on the ground, his hands covering his face.

Zoot was just stepping over the bouncer when a ridiculous figure in a white dinner jacket and outrageous paisley bow tie appeared in the doorway. Seeing the bouncer on the ground and Zoot stepping over him, made him turn pale to the roots of his purple hair, which had been lacquered into an incredibly high pompadour standing at least four inches tall.

“Zoot, sir! I-it’s a pleasure to see you here at Inferno. Let me introduce myself – I’m called Fixer.”

“You might be called dead meat before tonight’s over,” Zoot said, ominously as he pushed past the club manager. The club had once been a chain steak house. Now, it was a casino – gaming tables filled the old dining room. Patrons were gathered around tables playing various card games or tossing dice. Fixer even had a real roulette table and giant wheel of fortune presently covered with a sheet. Scantily clad males and females made their way around the room with trays of drinks. Zoot snatched a tall glass of beer from one of the passing waiters and sipped it curiously. Fixer had it so watered down; Zoot could barely taste any beer.

“You charge for this cow piss?” Zoot asked.

“Not to you, not to you,” Fixer nervously assured him. “It’s an honor to have you and your friends as our guests tonight.”

“Right,” Zoot glanced around the room, studiously ignoring the nervous club manager at his elbow. “You have an office?”

“Y-y-yes.”

“Lead the way,” Zoot ordered. “You’ve been a very bad boy and we have to discuss the penalty for your sins.”

Zoot followed Fixer across the room to the private dining room that had been converted into an office. He motioned to four of his guards to take up places outside the door; the two others followed him into the office. Zoot didn’t wait for Fixer to offer him a seat; he crossed the room to the desk and took the opulent executive office chair behind the desk for himself. The room was crammed with canned food, boxes of batteries, handheld electronic games, and just about anything else of value in the new economy.

“Doing very good here,” Zoot observed.

“We do okay,” Fixer admitted.

“Better than okay, I’d say,” Zoot shot back. “And, that’s the problem – you’re operating in my zone, but I haven’t even received a single can of fruit cocktail in tribute from you.”

“Ah, I … I ah, I thought that was all taken care of, I assure you,” Fixer stammered.

“Because the Devil Dogs are backing you?” Zoot sneered. “Their protection doesn’t extend to me and the Locos. The fact is, their protection doesn’t extend anywhere in Sector One …” Zoot was interrupted by wild shouting, cat calls, and cheering from the gaming floor.

The door opened and one of Zoot’s guards’s stuck his head inside the room, “Zoot, I think you need to come out here and see this.”

Fixer’s face took on a sickly hue that almost matched his purple hair. Zoot could tell that whatever was going on out there was a fairly regular occurrence. He smiled weakly, “I can explain what’s happening.”

Zoot shot Fixer a withering glance as he headed out the door. Zoot’s bodyguard pointed out one of the poker tables where two of the club’s enforcers were standing over one of the players intimidatingly. The player, a tall teen with a ragged bleached white crew cut, was choking back tears as he reluctantly began to remove his clothing. A crowd was gathering around the table, pushing and jostling to watch the action at the table. Zoot motioned for four of his guards to clear a space through the crowd so he could watch the events unfolding there.

Fixer was in awe as the orders were given totally through hand signals and carried out efficiently by the bodyguards. His bouncers and enforcers usually needed to be told exactly what to do if action outside their normal routine was expected of them. Fixer eyed Zoot nervously, wondering if he should step in and stop the play. He decided to let events play themselves out and see how Zoot reacted.

“What’s going on there?” Zoot demanded.

“Well, ah – the player at the poker table bet more than he could cover,” Fixer nervously explained. “If he’s not able to cover his losses, he’s given the chance to bet the last of his possessions …”

“In other words, his clothes,” Zoot observed.

“Ah, yes … exactly,” Fixer admitted. “If he wins this hand, he’s permitted to leave the club and the club covers his losses to other players. The club, of course, keeps his clothes to moderate our losses.”

“Of course you do,” Zoot said dryly. “And, if he loses?”

“He … ah, he faces the wheel,” Fixer stammered, pointing to the sheet shrouded wheel of fortune. “The wheel is spun and that determines his fate. He has another chance to leave free of his debts, he even has a chance to get his clothes back and maybe even a little more.”

Zoot nodded knowingly, “And, the wheel also has some unpleasant choices for him.”

Fixer gulped, “It wouldn’t be a game of chance if there wasn’t an element of risk.”

“Of course not,” Zoot agreed. “That’s what makes it so interesting.” He walked over to stand behind the naked player and stared down at the hands in the shaking hands.

The player was working on filling a low straight. He reluctantly pulled his lone face card, a king, from his hand and tossed it on the table hoping for the six cards he needed to fill out his straight. The house dealer moved around the table, dealing out fresh cards for the discards that had been thrown down. The naked player pulled his new card up with trembling fingers and almost fainted when he saw he had drawn a four of clubs. He missed his straight, but at least had a pair of fours to show for his troubles. Zoot had seen hands won on a single pair before, not that he expected the player to win this hand.

The only person who seemed surprised to see the hapless player had lost the hand was the naked teen himself. Zoot stepped back as the two club enforcers grabbed the player and frog-marched him over to the pit in front of the wheel of fortune as an alarm sounded in the club. An Emcee in a striped vest and straw hat jumped up next to the wheel, an old-fashioned megaphone held up to his mouth.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” he droned, waving his free hand to draw the crowd closer. “Watch as our unlucky friend faces the Wheel of Fate! Will Lady Luck return to his side and allow him to win the jackpot tonight? And remember, friends, the jackpot includes his clothes and seven cans of SPAM tonight – that’s right, friends, a whole week’s worth of SPAM.”

The crowd moved in closer, jabbering eagerly and making side bets among themselves. Zoot could tell this little game had been played out here before.

“Or will Miss Luck once again turn her pretty back on tonight’s contestant?” The Emcee called out as he reached out and whipped the sheet from the wheel.

Zoot studied the wheel. There were three panels marked FREEDOM, one marked SPIN AGAIN, and one marked JACKPOT. The others read SLAVE, CASTRATO, EUNUCH SLAVE, NULLIFIED SLAVE, and NULLIFICATION. Each of the penalty panels appeared three times. No wonder the poker player was trembling, Zoot decided.

“Now we all know the rules,” the Emcee barked out. “If our friend here lands on SPIN AGAIN three times in a row, he automatically wins the jackpot. Because as we all know, Lady Luck has to be smiling on anyone who can manage to get three SPIN AGAINs in a row!” The Emcee leaned down towards the unlucky poker player. “What’s your name, friend?”

At first, the poor fellow couldn’t manage to get his name out. The enforcers jabbed him a couple of times and he finally managed to croak out, “F-freddie.”

“Well Freddie,” the Emcee called. “Step right and give the wheel a trial spin. Come on, you can do it.” Suddenly, the Emcee straightened up and bellowed out to the crowd. “Tell you what I’m gonna do – we at Inferno are feeling generous tonight. If Freddie here can land on FREE SPIN with his trial spin, we’ll count that towards his three FREE SPINS. That’s right – if he gets FREE SPIN on his trial spin, he only needs to make two more to win the jackpot. How’s that for fair?”

Most of the crowd broke out in cheers and applause. A few booed.

“I can see there are some who don’t think I’m being generous enough tonight,” the Emcee sang out. “Okay, okay – I’d hate to have anyone say Inferno was cheap. Here’s the deal – if friend Freddie can make three FREE SPINS – including his trial spin – he will win his freedom, his clothes, and a whole week’s supply of SPAM. But, that’s not all! Oh no – Inferno will throw in not one, not two, but three-dozen batteries. And yes, before anyone asks – those batteries are fully charged! That’s thirty-six batteries, folks – and we all know what a treasure like that can get someone. And … I’m sure to get in trouble with the Boss over this … and, we’ll even throw in a Gameboy and game cartridge.”

The crowd cheered it approval of the increased jackpot. Zoot thought there was a couple almost willing to trade places with the hapless Freddie for a chance at a bundle like that. Zoot wasn’t mug enough to think for one minute that the poor poker player had any chance. The only question in his mind was whether Fixer and his club were independent slavers or working directly for the Devil Dogs. If Fixer was independent and just protected by the Devil Dogs, that wasn’t any problem. Zoot would just demand Fixer pay sixty percent of his take for permission to operate in Sector One. If the Devil Dogs were actually the ones running the show, the issue was slightly more complicated. He might have to accept less of a tribute to avoid going to open war with the other Tribe. He considered his options as he watched Freddie reach out a quavering hand to spin the wheel.

Zoot leaned over to his chief bodyguard and whispered “Free Spin.” Spike nodded that he understood and wasn’t at all surprised when the wheel stopped on the FREE SPIN panel. The crowd went wild, cheering Freddie on and reminding him that just one more FREE SPIN and he’d win the magnificent jackpot. Zoot leaned over towards Spike again, whispering instructions. Spike nodded, his face blank and impassive. He melted back into the crowd and relayed Zoot’s instructions to another one of the guards before sliding up beside his Tribe leader again. His movements were so smooth, that no one even noticed he had changed positions.

Feeling bolder, Freddie eagerly grabbed the wheel and gave it a mighty spin. Zoot watched from under hooded eyes as the wheel slowed and finally stopped on the EUNUCH SLAVE panel. Some in the crowd cheered and others groaned as losers paid off their side bets. Freddie stood silent and motionless, his mouth hanging open slackly like he couldn’t believe what had happened. He looked around, his eyes glazed. The enforcers immediately took Freddie’s arms and dragged him up onto the platform in front of the wheel.

The Emcee pushed the wheel off to one side, revealing two large posts with ankle and wrist shackled dangling from them. It wasn’t until the enforcers began shackling Freddie spread-eagle between the posts that he snapped out of his shocked trance. He howled, screamed, and whined like a wild animal – unable to make even the vaguest of human sounds. He jerked at his restraints in a frenzy until his body was drenched in sweat. The crowd cheered and jeered his desperate efforts to break free, their cries drowning his own out. Eventually, Freddie slumped in his bonds in exhaustion. The Emcee moved quickly, shoving a red ball gag in the prisoner’s mouth and running the straps around his head. Once the gag was secure, the Emcee stepped back and nodded to the enforcers. The smaller of the two enforcers produced an old-fashioned straight razor as he knelt down in front of Freddie and quickly removed the thatch of pubic hair covering the unlucky gambler’s groin.

Zoot appeared to be watching the proceedings with interest – but, he wasn’t so absorbed that he missed the arrival of Lobo, the leader of the Devil Dogs, his entire face and shaved head covered in black, white and grey camouflage grease paint. Zoot shifted his eyes slightly around the room, quickly identifying the four other Devil Dogs backing Lobo up. Zoot turned to Spike, his right eyebrow raised slightly. Spike glanced around the room before slightly raising his right thumb.

Lobo stepped directly in front of Zoot, blocking his line of sight, “You just enjoying the show, or here to hassle Fixer?”

Zoot impassively stared straight ahead, not acknowledging Lobo’s presence for several minutes. He waited until Lobo began to nervously glance around, clearly unsure of what his next move should be. Zoot finally shifted his gaze to meet Lobo’s stare.

“You’re blocking my view,” Zoot murmured softly.

Lobo stood his ground for a few seconds before caving and moving to stand on Zoot’s left side. Fixer joined the group, clearly feeling secure and smug now that his protector was on the site. Glancing around, Zoot tilted his head in the direction of the table nearest the raised platform where the action was taking place. Without waiting for the others, Zoot moved to the table where there was a scramble by the present occupants to clear the table without being told. Zoot remained standing until Lobo and Fixer joined him. Like a gracious host, he remained standing until the other two had seated themselves.

“Anyone mind if we hold off our conversation until after the show?” Zoot asked pleasantly. “It interests me.”

On the platform, the shaving was already finished. Freddie’s smooth, bare groin glistened under a sheen of sweat as a leather-clad female took her place in front of him. Zoot found himself intrigued by the girl dressed only in high leather boots, leather shorts, and leather bustier. Leather thongs cross-crossed their way up her forearms. She dominated the platform with her show of cocky indifference – Zoot liked that. He watched as she raised a large needle and dramatically held it over her head for everyone in the room to see. Dropping to her knees, she took poor Freddie’s dick in her free hand and worked the needle through his piss slit and out the other side. Freddie screamed around the ball gag in his mouth.

“That’s Ebony,” Freddie explained. “She really knows how to put on a show.”

Ebony reached into a slash pocket of the bustier and withdrew a large bore stainless steel ring. Once again, she held it high over her head to let the crowd grow even more excited. Spinning on her heel, she worked the ring through the new hole in Freddie’s penis, giving him a heavy duty Prince Albert. Once it was in place, she clapped her hands to summon one of the enforcers. He stepped up with a small tray in his hands. Ebony selected a mini-torch from the tray and a stick of solder. A soft “Ahhhhhh” ran through the crowd as she welded the Prince Albert in place, guaranteeing the only way to remove it was by cutting. Seductively unwrapping the thong around her left arm, Ebony slipped one end through the stainless steel ring and pulled Freddie’s cock up by the thong, stretching it at far as she dared without risking ripping it out. She tied the thong around Freddie’s neck, keeping his captive cock pulled up tight against his denuded belly.

Turning back to the crowd, Ebony went through her seductive routine of unwrapping the other leather thong from her arm. Freddie’s eyes widened in mounting terror – the whites showing widely. Ebony formed a loop with the thong, slipping it daintily over Freddie’s scrotum, close to his groin. Smiling in anticipation, Ebony handed each end of the thong to one of the enforcers who were already flexing their muscles. They didn’t need to be told what to do – Ebony counted to three and both enforcers tugged as hard as they could, choking off Freddie’s scrotum.

Zoot leaned forward, watching intently as Freddie’s ball sac turned red, then dark red, and finally, a deep purple as the blood welled up. Ebony reached into her bustier and withdrew a wire bundle tie and started the loop on the tie. She worked the wire tie up under the leather thong and pulled it snug. With the wire tie in place, Ebony backed away a huge, toothy smile on her face as the Emcee returned with his hands behind his back.

Bringing his hand from behind his back, the Emcee revealed a huge set of long handled pruning shears. He held the shears high above his head as he walked back and forth along the front of the platform before spinning on his heel to face Freddie. With a jerk of his arms, the Emcee opened and closed the pruning shears with a loud snap several times. Tears were running down Freddie’s face as he continued to try to scream around the gag as the Emcee faced the crowd once more and gave the pruning shears one final snap before moving behind Freddie. A hush fell over the crowd as the Emcee opened the pruning shears wide and carefully slid the razor sharp blades around Freddie’s ball sac just below the wire tie. The hush intensified into an anticipation-filled silence. Suddenly, the blades of the shears snapped closed and Freddie’s entire sac dropped to the platform with a meaty thud.

Zoot scanned the room which had broken out in pandemonium – the crowd cheered, stomped their feet, and pounded the tables in their excitement. Shrill whistles filled the air. Slowly, the noise died out, to be replaced by the normal din of the patrons gambling and calling for refreshments. Zoot turned to Fixer and gave a long, slow nod of his head in appreciation of the show.

“Very polished performance,” Zoot said in praise. Fixer blushed and bowed his head in deference to the words of praise.

“Yeah, nice job,” Lobo growled before turning to face Zoot. “Now, you mind telling me your business here?”

“Curiosity,” Zoot answered evenly.

“Curious about what?” Lobo demanded.

“Curious about the nature of this club,” Zoot said still not looking at Lobo, his voice growing hard. “Curious about whether the Devil Dogs are just providing protection or are actually running the club.” Zoot suddenly turned his head to stare hard at Lobo. “And, most of all, curious as to why the appropriate tribute hasn’t been paid to the Locos.”

“For now, the Devil Dogs just provide muscle,” Lobo said, a sneer creeping into his voice. “For a cut of the take, of course – among other things.”

“I noticed just now,” Zoot said. “Interesting way to get slaves. You going to keep poor Freddie or sell him at the next slave market?” Lobo just shrugged in answer. “That still leaves the question of the unpaid tributes – you going to make them good? I know that even you’re not stupid enough to try to prevent me from collecting them – including the back tributes owed and a penalty.”

“Well, I don’t know that you’re in any position to make demands here,” Lobo said slyly. “Looking around, I’d have to say you’re outnumbered.” Lobo began pointing around the room. “From the looks of it, there’s only six of you. Now, with the four Devil Dogs who came here with me, I’d say we were already pretty evenly matched – five to six.”

Zoot leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head in a studied show of indifference, “You amaze me, Lobo – I didn’t think you could add that high.”

“Wanna see some more addition?” Lobo snarled. “This oughta blow you’re fucking mind. Not counting the bouncer at the door, I got ten more enforcers here. That makes the odds fifteen to six.”

“And you’re willing to risk war between our Tribes over paying tribute that rightfully belongs to the Locos?” Zoot asked, his voice taking on a bored tone.

Lobo offered Zoot a feral grin, “The way I figure – if the great Zoot is knocked off his throne there won’t be no war.” Lobo flicked his eyes towards the posts where Freddie was still spread-eagled. “Maybe Zoot wouldn’t be killed – there are worse things. I don’t think any Loco would follow a leader without balls.” Lobo placed both hands on the table in plain sight. “Now, I think you have a choice – just walk out of here with your tail between your legs, or push the issue.” He leaned forward, his face a mask of hate. “Push the issue and I promise you’ll be the next show between those posts.”

Zoot lazily looked around the room, then up at the ceiling as if thinking his options over. Finally, he sighed, “Okay, you win.” Suddenly, his right hand flashed forward. Lobo caught a quick flash of silver, but was too slow to react before the long bladed stiletto was plunged into the back of his hand, pinning it to the table. A second stiletto appeared in Zoot’s left hand, the needle sharp point resting just under Lobo’s right eye. Before the Devil Dogs could rush to their leader’s assistance, the front and back doors of the club burst open as two columns of Locos spilled into the club. All were armed with aluminum baseball bats. From outside the club came a rhythmic tap, tap, tap of aluminum baseball bats rapidly beating against the street.

“There are already two columns of Loco soldiers inside,” Zoot growled. “In case you can’t add that high, that means forty Loco soldiers here in the club. The sound you hear outside is another three columns just waiting to kick some Devil Dog ass.” Zoot glanced over his shoulder at Spike. “Release Freddie and string this worthless, fucking dog up in his place.”

Spike jerked his head towards two of the Locos backing him up and pointed at Freddie. They immediately leapt to the platform and unstrapped the barely conscious Freddie from his bonds before returning to drag Lobo up to the posts. A well-delivered blow from the end of a baseball bat to Lobo’s belly knocked the wind out of him long enough for them to get the Devil Dog leader strapped between the posts. By the time Lobo got his breath back, he was securely bound and the Loco soldiers were busy cutting his clothes to shreds leaving him naked in front of the stunned crowd.

“Take him,” Zoot ordered Spike, pointing a stiletto at Fixer. Striding to the platform, Zoot climbed up and faced the crowd. “The Devil Dogs are no more! Any Devil Dog who doesn’t want to share Lobo’s fate had better swear loyalty to the Locos now.” He stared around the room at the Devil Dog enforcers. “I said NOW! On your knees – or be ready to get what Lobo gets.”

None of the Devil Dogs needed another reminder – one by one they dropped to their knees and bowed their heads mumbling loyalty to Zoot. Each of them prayed Zoot accepted their frightened pledges, and didn’t decide to punish them anyway.

Zoot turned to the enforcer who had shaved Freddie, “Get that blade of yours out. I want to see you do as good a job on Lobo as you did on Freddie – if you don’t, you’ll be the next one to provide the crowd entertainment.”

The enforcer’s hand was shaking as he went to work scraping away Lobo’s pubes. He had to stop several times to steady his nerves to prevent seriously cutting his former leader. As it was, he managed to nick Lobo several times leaving little spots of blood behind.

The crowd quickly forgot their initial shock and fear of being caught in the middle of a turf war and began to gather around the platform. Bets were being made on whether Lobo would beg for his release or take his castration in brave silence. Before long, the side bets were being made fast and furiously – all earlier fears ignored now.

Spike dragged the trembling Emcee back onto the platform, the long-handled pruning shears in his free hand. The Emcee was babbling and begging not to be forced to perform the castration on Lobo. Spike shrugged and began tugging the Emcee’s pants off, telling him if he wasn’t willing to cut Lobo’s balls off, he could have his own cut off instead. That very real threat was enough to convince the Emcee he was better off following orders from the Locos now – Lobo’s days of power were clearly over. Even if Zoot just let him go once this night was over, he’d never be a Tribe leader again.

Zoot turned his attention to his former opponent, examining Lobo’s dark eyes. At first glance, they still blazed defiance. But Zoot had enough experience reading other people to recognize the first signs of abject terror lurking in those brown eyes. Lobo had been harboring a last desperate hope that his Tribe would suddenly rally in the face of overwhelming odds and miraculously rescue him. Zoot could see that pitiful hope slowly dying out. Even Lobo couldn’t believe in a miraculous salvation much longer. All he needed was the right nudge and he’d be blubbering like a baby. That nudge came from an unexpected source.

Ebony strode onto the stage – leather thongs carefully wrapped around her forearms again, a large bore needle held high in one hand. The crowd cheered and stomped their feet in appreciation. Once she was sure the crowd had worked themselves to the edge of frenzied excitement, Ebony turned and grabbed Lobo’s seven-inch dick in her free hand. She wasted no time working the needle through Lobo’s captive cock and producing a stainless steel ring from her pocket. Now, Lobo was shaking his head – tears rolling down his face as he silently begged her not to continue. Ebony’s only answer was a condescending smile – then, she worked the large gauge ring through the hole she had just made. The dam of Lobo’s self-control broke and he began whimpering.

Ebony strode offstage, returning moments later with her mini-torch and a pair of pliers. Holding the ring in the pliers, she began heating it and watching as the steel started to glow. The glow intensified from a dull red to a bright incandescent red. Lobo shrieked as the heat seared the head of his cock, jerking in his bonds and begging for release. Ebony finally applied the solder to the Prince Albert ring, sealing it closed forever. Reaching into her pocket, Ebony came up with a small D-ring that she clipped to the red-hot Prince Albert. She seductively unwrapped the first leather thong and threaded it through the D-ring before pulling the thong tight and tying it around Lobo’s neck. The still hot Prince Albert touched Lobo’s belly, burning him and making him scream even louder. The other thong came off and was tied tightly around the neck of Lobo’s scrotum. Ebony pulled it tight, causing the thong to cut into the scrotum’s tender flesh. This time, she didn’t wait to apply the wire tie – as soon as the thong was tied tightly, she applied the wire tie and turned to Zoot.

“He’s a loser – big time, not worthy of having a man’s jewels between his legs,” Ebony said in derision. “Cut him whenever you’re ready.”

“Sounds like you hate him,” Zoot observed.

“I do,” Ebony said simply. “Now, he’s getting what he deserves.” She cast a sneer towards Lobo. “He used to be my man – until he showed how stupid he was by trying to take you tonight. I warned him not to cross you. But, his balls were bigger than his brains and he made the stupid move. A loser like him doesn’t deserve balls.”

Zoot grinned down at Ebony, then glanced over to Lobo. He was still grinning when he pulled Ebony close to him and kissed her hard on the mouth. He only half heard the plaintive wail from Lobo at seeing his woman abandon him in favor of his enemy. Zoot’s kiss turned savage as he bit Ebony’s lip until he tasted blood. She didn’t pull back – he liked that.

Finally breaking the kiss, Zoot nodded to the Emcee, “Do him.”

The Emcee’s heart wasn’t fully in his work as he held the pruning shears over his head, feebly opening and closing them in front of the crowd. Knowing he couldn’t stall any longer, he moved behind Lobo and opened the blades wide. Lobo began screaming – a high-pitched girlish scream and trying to jerk himself away from those razor sharp blades. Taking a deep breath, the Emcee heaved his shoulders and brought the blades closed with an audible snap.

Later, in Fixer’s office, Zoot sat behind the desk going over the very thorough ledger books Fixer had kept. Of course, he had been cheating Lobo at every turn – and the amount he had skimmed was impressive. At last, he looked up to Spike, “Bring them in.”

“The girl, too?”

“No – save her for later,” Zoot, said. “I still haven’t decided what I want to do with her. I sure as hell don’t trust her,” he grinned in admiration despite himself, but I can’t help admiring her thinking. A girl like that is dangerous. Keep her under guard for now. Just show the other two in.”

Freddie nervously shuffled into the room as Spike guided him and Fixer into the office. He’d been given a long white terrycloth robe and looked more alert than the last time Zoot had seen him. Fixer had regained some of his composure. He figured Zoot needed him to run the club and learn the ins and outs of the slave trade that made far more than the gambling brought in. Zoot waved them both to chairs on opposite sides of the desk. Freddie nervously sat on the edge of his chair, while Fixer confidently leaned back in his.

“Freddie – that is your name, right?” Zoot asked the new castrato. Freddie nodded, his eyes frightened. “Got a couple of questions for you – how you answer is going to change your life one way or another.” Freddie’s eyes began to water – maybe whatever Zoot had in mind would be far worse than the slavery. “Can you read and write?”

“Uh, yeah … I mean, yes, sir,” Freddie quickly answered.

“Good,” Zoot smiled. “You a serious gambler?”

“No – but I was desperate.”

“Why?” Zoot wanted to know.

“I was trying to earn enough to feed me and some friends,” Freddie answered truthfully.

“You know you were set up, don’t you?” Zoot asked. “The club cheated you and forced you to lose so you could be sold as a slave.” At first, Freddie looked confused – then a look of anger filled his eyes.

“Hey, it was nothing personal,” Fixer said by way of explanation. “I’m just a businessman.”

“No, you’re a fucking crook,” Zoot thundered, slamming his hands down on the desk. “You ripped off Lobo left, right, and center – only he was too stupid to check up on you. He thought scaring you was enough to keep you honest.” Zoot flipped through the ledgers. “I gotta hand to you – you were inventive. Lobo thought he was getting the cream of the crop in the slaves you set up – and half the time, you kept the good slave and snatched up some geek off the street and pulled a switch. There isn’t a single area of this club where you didn’t rip the Devil Dogs off.”

Fixer began squirming in his chair, almost as soon as the thought of trying to bolt for freedom popped into his head, Spike’s hand clamped down on his shoulder and pinned him to the chair.

“You’re out as club manager,” Zoot said. He turned to Freddie, “How about you? Think you can manage the club and not get tempted to rip the Locos off?”

Freddie couldn’t believe his ears – he was being given the chance to live in luxury. His head bobbed up and down in wonder. As long as he didn’t get greedy and steal from Zoot, he’d have it made.

“What about me?” Fixer whined.

“Oh, I have something very special in mind for you,” Zoot smiled evilly. “Strip him naked and put him on display out in public view. I should make you face that crooked wheel of yours, but what I have in mind is more fun.”

Fixer decided to try to make a run for it. A painful stomping had to be better than whatever Zoot had dreamed up. Spike was faster with an arm around Fixer’s throat as he pulled the club manager’s arm back in a hammerlock. Fixer immediately began wheedling and whining as Spike dragged him from the room.

Zoot waited until the door was closed before going over what he expected from Freddie as club manager. He assured Freddie that the Locos would have bodyguards to protect both the club and Zoot’s interests, leaving unspoken the threat of what could happen should he decide to cheat Zoot the way Fixer had done to Lobo. Freddie assured him that would never happen.

Spike returned and smiled as he reported that Fixer had been stripped naked and put on display out on the floor, adding that the Emcee was waiting anytime Zoot was ready to see him. The Loco leader decided to see him immediately. Spike opened the door and jerked his head towards the desk. The Emcee entered the room, nervously wiping his brow. Zoot assured him that he wasn’t at any risk – for now. He introduced Freddie as the new club manager before quickly outlining his plans for Fixer. Hearing the plans, the Emcee grew excited – he had no love for Fixer and would obviously enjoy what Zoot had dreamed up for his former boss.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” the Emcee called through his megaphone in a cheerful singsong. “Step right up my friends – we’re about to have some fun with something very different here at Inferno.” Gaming around the room stopped and the crowd slowly drifted over to the platform. It had been nearly two hours since Fixer had been put on spread-eagle display. Nothing had happened and the crowd had quickly grown tired of jeering at the former club manager.

“Come on, come on,” the Emcee exhorted the crowd. “Bring your chips or goods to trade. We’re about to have an auction! But not just any old auction – of course not! Here at Inferno we like to do things with a twist.” More curious now, the crowd filled in, jostling and pushing each other to get close to the platform.

“And what are we going to auction, you might ask?” The Emcee sang out, a sly grin spreading across his face. “We’re going to auction the man pretended to be a friend to everyone, but who in reality cheated everyone – that’s right, Fixer is on auction.”

“Ah, I can see the disappointment in your faces,” the Emcee called. “And, to tell the truth, I can’t blame you – he’s not exceptionally strong. In fact, the truth is that he is downright weak and flabby! But, that doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun at his expense.” The Emcee stepped over next to Fixer and lovingly ran his hand over the magnificent pompadour. “The first thing we’re going to auction off is this beautiful, stupendous purple pompadour. That’s right – some lucky bidder will have the chance to buy this pompadour and buzz it off with these …” The Emcee pulled a set of battery operated clippers from his pocket. “The batteries are brand new and the winning bidder gets to keep the clippers and the batteries – that’s right, the winning bidder not only gets this magnificent pompadour, he or she – also gets brand new batteries and clippers. Now, let’s get the bidding under way!”

Zoot watched from the back of the gaming floor as the bidding got underway. The bidding was fierce. Everything was offered – batteries, six-packs of soft drinks, beer, and boots. Someone even offered a pig, but his bid was rejected since he didn’t have the pig with him. Eventually, the Emcee called the winning bid – three cases of Coca Cola. The winner was about fifteen, a skinny lad whose head had recently been buzzed down to stubble.

“Ah – some of you may remember our friend here,” the Emcee called. “It was just a week ago that Fixer had the boy held down and had a beautiful mane of golden hair buzzed off. Why, you ask? Did our winner lose a bet? Not at all. Fixer did it for one reason only – he wanted this fellow’s beautiful mid-back length hair so he could sell it – and now, the tables are turned! Isn’t Lady Luck fickle?”

Zoot was certain the Emcee had fixed the bidding somehow – but he didn’t really care. The main point of the auction was to humiliate Fixer – he liked the way the Emcee had rigged the bidding. The buzzed headed teen was grinning wickedly as he took the clippers and methodically began buzzing away Fixer’s purple hair. He pushed the clippers straight down the middle of Fixer’s head, sending heavily lacquered locks tumbling to the floor. It wasn’t long before the top of Fixer’s head had been skinned down to stubble. The Emcee looked in Zoot’s direction, his eyebrow raised. Zoot considered for a moment and them nodded, motioning for the teen to be allowed to continue.

“Folks, I know the bidding was for only that really impressive pompadour,” the Emcee sang out. “But, I think it’s only fair that our winner gets to finish the job off. What do you say?” The Emcee motioned for the crowd to applaud, which they were only too happy to do. “Yes, I can tell you all have as generous a heart as I do.” He turned to the winner. “Go ahead, friend – take it all. It’s yours!”

Grinning sadistically, the teen began attacking the rest of Fixer’s purple hair as the crowd chanted “Baldy! Baldy! Baldy!” Finally, every purple lock of hair was on the floor around Fixer’s feet, as he sobbed quietly in humiliation. The Emcee stepped up and rubbed his hands over Fixer’s head, giving the crowd a leer as he did so.

Stepping away from Fixer, the Emcee lifted his megaphone again, “That’s all for tonight my friends. I know, I know – you would like to continue. And, we shall – tomorrow night. Tomorrow, Fixer’s truly fantastic patch of pubic hair will be auctioned off to the highest bidder. Who will win the chance to turn this worm back into the worthless boy he really is?”

Ebony slid up next to Zoot, “Smart move – the crowd will be twice as big tomorrow.” She glanced towards the platform. “The peons will flock in each night to see the mighty Fixer taken down another notch.”

“Exactly,” Zoot agreed. “He should last about a week – by then, everyone will be bored with him.” Zoot glanced down at Ebony; his voice took on an icy cheer. “Of course, it’s not just entertainment,” Zoot said softly. “It’s also a warning – the next one up there could be you, if you cross me.”

Zoot glanced around the room, examining the faces of the crowd. He permitted himself a self-satisfied smile. He had eliminated the Devil Dogs as a Tribe – of course, it was mostly by luck and accident. He would have managed it eventually, but Lobo pushing the issue only made it happen sooner. From the satisfied and excited expressions on the faces in the club, Zoot knew he had discovered the best way for him to eliminate all the other major Tribes and realize his personal dream of ruling The City. He’d give the little people doses of fear and entertainment. His lips curled up even more, it wouldn’t be long now. Not long at all.

To be continued …