Mark Wildyr's Blog, page 17

Headhunter – Pipsqueak

markwildyr.com, Post #88           
Courtesy of PexSnap.comOkay, it’s John Shandell’s turn. Except Diego has such little respect for the man he calls him Pipsqueak. How will Diego handle this one?
Enjoy
*****HEADHUNTER
PIPSQUEAK
On Thursday, Diego went to buy some condoms. And there, smaller than life behind the counter at the East Central Drug Store, was John Shandell, the guy he called Pipsqueak—the first name on Diego’s list. He smothered a smile at the look of consternation on the dainty features.“Hi,” he put a friendly tone in his voice even as a worm of disgust crawled around in his belly. “It’s John, isn’t it? I didn’t know you worked here.”“Yeah, five years now.”“That was a hell of a night a few weeks ago wasn’t it? Hope I didn’t make an ass of myself passing out like I did. Don’t do it very often. Funny thing, I didn’t think I was drinking that much.”Pipsqueak’s countenance cleared a bit. “I got kind of smashed, myself. No harm done.”“I’ve been on the straight and narrow since then. How about you?”“Yeah, a man can’t handle a drunk like that more’n once every few months.”Diego wondered if Pipsqueak included himself in the “man” category. The guy looked like a pallid, aging kid who’d skipped his youth. Repressing a shiver of revulsion, he asked for a three-pack of Trojans. The thin kind. How was he going to snare this one? Despite a Napoleonic bluster, the John Shandells of the world walked around in fear of their fellow creatures because of what they themselves were capable of doing. On the other hand, Pipsqueak was desperately anxious to be considered a man. Probably thought women lusted after him and had naughty dreams about him. Still, the guy wasn’t about to walk up to an empty motel room like Stocky.As he paid for the condoms, Diego struck a thoughtful pose. “I don’t know many people in this town,” he said slowly. “I wonder if you’d be interested in…. Naw, that’s okay.”The diminutive man took the bait. “What? Go ahead. What is it, man?”“Well, my sister and a friend are up for a visit from South America. They’re not too sophisticated, you know…coming out of the jungle and all. I thought I’d try to get Dorena, that’s her friend, a date. Don’t suppose you’d be available tomorrow night, would you? I know it’s a lot to ask. I’d get Chuck to give me a hand, but he’s busy.”This guy painted his thoughts right on his face for the world to see. Instantly, Pipsqueak went cautious. “Uh, what does she look like? I mean, uh…I don’t know much about people from down there.”Inspired, Diego pulled a photo from his wallet. A group of Huatani kids sat on a log staring into the camera for one of the missionaries. He handed it over and pointed to one of the girls. “That’s Dorena, a couple of years ago,” he lied.“Jeez!” Pipsqueak exhaled. “She’s a beauty. Does…does she speak English?”“Yeah, most of the kids from my village do.” Diego fought to keep spite out of his voice. “The missionaries and medical people were too lazy to learn our language, so we had to learn theirs.”“Sure. Where we gonna take them?”“Thought we’d take them out to dinner, and then you and Dorena can go do whatever you want. My sister wants to see an American movie.”Pipsqueak was almost salivating. “I can take her off on my own? Yeah, sure. I got nothing better to do Friday. Where do I meet you?”“I’ll pick you up. They’re staying at a motel out on Pan American. Not enough room at my place. We’ll go together, have dinner, and then I’ll bring you two back to pick up your car. Okay?”It was not only okay, it was music to Pipsqueak’s tiny ears. As they made final arrangements to meet his non-existent sister and her phantom girlfriend, Diego wondered if the jerk could keep his hands off himself tonight in anticipation of screwing the brains out of an uncivilized savage tomorrow? Naw, he’d save what little jism he had for the main event.At the appointed hour on Friday, Headhunter went by the drug store and found Pipsqueak anxiously pacing the sidewalk. He swung west and picked up I-25 North while his companion peppered him with questions. As they passed motel after motel on the adjoining Pan American frontage road, John’s chatter died away.“Where in the hell are they staying?” he finally demanded as they left civilization behind. “On the Indian reservation?”“In South America, actually,” Headhunter said as he sped up the Interstate. “You didn’t really believe me, did you?”The small man bristled. “Why the hell would I come with you otherwise?”“To pay me back,” Diego said quietly.“Wh… what?” Headhunter caught the look of alarm out of the corner of his eye.“You apparently favor oral sex. At least you did when I lay helpless on the bed. Now it’s my turn.”“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Turn this car around and take me back right this minute.”“Somehow I think this’ll be a little harder for you than it was for me.”“You’re crazy, man!” John yelled. Abruptly, he dropped the phony disclaimers. “You…you’re not supposed to remember any of that. You can’t remember it! They promised.”“Did you get the drug for them, Pipsqueak?” Headhunter asked. “I figure working in a drug store, you’re the supplier. You know all about things like that, don’t you? How much to give. How much I’ll remember. Am I right?”The little man almost broke his neck casting around for help as they sped by Sandia Pueblo. “Where…where are you taking me?”“We’re going up in the mountains where we’ll have some privacy. And then you’re going to make me believe you’re enjoying what you’re going to do for me. Do you understand?”“Man,” John wheedled, “You’re wrong. I’m not queer.”“Neither am I, but you took away my strength and did what you wanted to me. And now it’s my turn.”“It wasn’t me!” Pipsqueak yelped. “It was Ritchie’s idea. And…and it wasn’t like it was the first time. Ritchie said you guys had no morals. Said he’d read where you did it to one another all the time, didn’t matter what sex it was. Said you serviced the missionaries.”“And you believed him? Of course, you did. Your leader said it, so it had to be true. Besides, you wanted to believe it because you wanted me.”“Yes, I believed him,” the little man pled. “He knows more about things like that than I do. He reads all the time. Why would he lie?”“To get you to do what he wanted. To get his sick thrill from dominating three grown men and a helpless, drugged victim.”“I’m sorry, man,” John turned in the seat, his face twisted in torment. “Really, I am. I’ll never do anything like that again. Please, man. Don’t make me do this.”Headhunter noted the tacit acquiescence, although he doubted Pipsqueak realized he had already capitulated. “Actions have consequences, you little shit. The only question is how bad is it going to be?”“What do you mean?”“Where I come from, what you did would earn you a slow, painful death. Or worse. A non-death.”“Wh…what’s that? Some kind of freaking zombie?”“That’s exactly what I mean. Either I’d have your head hanging in my hut or you’d be wandering helplessly in the jungle praying to die. You’d have no human contact because everyone who saw you would run away in terror. Think of living day after day with no contact, not capable of thinking. Wrong word! That’s not living. That’s existing... endlessly.”“You’re bluffing. You don’t know how to do that. Anyway, there’s no such thing as zombies.”“Believe what you want, Pipsqueak. But it’s really a very simple thing. Doesn’t take any Caribbean voodoo mumbo-jumbo. That’s for the tourists. It just takes enough of the right drug. Not too little and not too much. But the right dosage is kinda hard to judge. You know, weight, body mass…that kind of thing. The witches kill more victims than they enslave. But either way is okay by me. Both meet my standards of justice.”“That’s just…a bunch of hokum.” Pipsqueak’s voice held a note of desperation.“You think so? Then tell me something. How do I know Chuck was first and you were next? You claim there’s no way I could remember. Well, I do remember. My grandmother’s a witchdoctor, Pipsqueak. And I used everything she ever taught me to overcome your drug. I saw you perform your perversions on me. And you’re all going to pay. One way or the other, you’re gonna pay.”Resistance, denial, disbelief all crumbled abruptly. “Please, man. I’m sorry. Please don’t do this!” Pipsqueak actually bawled.“And if you get the bright idea of going to the police afterward, I’ll probably go to prison if you all stick together and lie. But I promise you one thing. When I get out, I’ll devote the rest of my life to finding you. And when I do, you’ll never be the same again. That’s a promise. No, that’s a vow.”An hour later, Headhunter let the palsied little man off at his car behind the pharmacy. “One final thing. You’re not going to warn the others. If you do I’ll know… and you’ll pay.”“I-I won’t. I promise. Uh, Diego, if you want, we can….”Diego smirked. “Never again, you miserable bastard.”He went home, showered thoroughly, and nursed a sore penis the remainder of the night.
*****
So far, so good. But you know me well enough to know I can’t let well enough alone. What will happen with the final two on his list? See you next week.
Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but it’ll take some help from readers to get Dreamspinner interested.
My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:Website and blog: markwildyr.comEmail: markwildyr@aol.comFacebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyrTwitter: @markwildyr
The following are buy links for CUT HAND:
DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-bAmazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWViBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2
And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
Mark
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on each Thursday for the life of this serial; thereafter, the first and third Thursdays of the month.

Headhunter – Chuck

markwildyr.com, Post #87
Courtesy of PexSnap.comNow we’ll see what Diego has in mind as he confronts Chuck-called Stocky by his intimates—for the first time after Diego’s rape.
Pay attention now.


*****HEADHUNTER
CHUCK
Monday morning, Diego strode through the door of the print shop and went through his usual routine of clocking in, pouring a cup of coffee, and saying hello to everyone in the plant. Chuck—Stocky, the crew called him—glanced up from cleaning one of the presses and muttered a subdued welcome. The worried look he wore dispelled any lingering doubts. Friday night had not been a wet dream; it had been a wet nightmare. Diego swallowed his rising gorge and gave Stocky a friendly greeting.“That must have been some party Friday night,” he said, hoping he sounded sheepish. “I woke up Saturday morning in a motel room, can you believe that? How much did I drink, anyway?”Stocky visibly relaxed. “A lot, man. I’ve never seen anybody soak it up like you did. I wasn’t in too good shape myself.”Chuck Thalman was pathetically friendly. They’d never been buddies, even though they hung out after work occasionally. Stocky’s eagerness to please made things easier. Mid-week, Diego approached the man.“Hey, Chuck, I ran into that blonde at the table next to us at the Stomp the other night. She wants to get together, but I have to come up with a date for a visiting girlfriend. Brenda swears she’s no dog. Are you game for Friday night?”“Gee, Diego, I don’t know. I don’t like blind dates.”“Well, let me tell you how much of a sure thing this is. We’re picking them up at her friend’s motel. I figure we can take a bottle, have a little drink before we take them out… and then never leave. All it’ll cost us is a bottle.”“Naw, that won’t work. They’ll want to go out for dinner or something.”“Dunno. I told Brenda we’d bring a bottle, and she said okay. Want to give it a try?”“Sure, why not?”Diego embellished the big lie for the rest of the week. During his Friday lunch break, he rented a motel room a little more upscale than the one they’d abandoned him in. He left the items he’d brought with him placed around the room. After satisfying himself everything was ready, he departed, leaving lights burning. At lunch, he dangled the key in front of Chuck.“Went over last night and met Brenda. Her friend’s a dish. They gave me a key and told us to come over. I told them you were a stud, Chuck. You better not let me down.”A smile broke on the other man’s face. “They gave you the key? No shit. What’s this girl’s name? Is she a blonde like the other one?”“Nope. A luscious redhead. Actually, I’d like to get her, but Brenda’s already got her hooks in me. Her name’s Marcia.”“Marcia. I like that. Don’t worry, I won’t let you down. Nobody’s complained so far.”As Diego drove the two of them to the motel, Chuck seemed to get more pumped at the idea of hooking up with a sure thing.“I see you gussied up for the rendezvous,” he said.“What do you mean?”Chuck indicated a ring of beaten silver on Diego’s right ring finger. “I’ve never seen you wear jewelry before.”Diego held up his hand, allowing a smile to reach his lips. “Something my grandmother gave me years ago.” And if you only knew how important it is for tonight, my friend.They parked at the back of the motel parking lot and sauntered to Number 110 like peacocks stalking peahens. Diego knocked loudly before opening the door and stepping aside for his companion to precede him. As Stocky brushed past him, Diego pinched the flesh of the man’s arm against a recessed needle in his ring. It wasn’t much…but it didn’t take much.“Ow! What the….” Stocky grabbed his arm. A moment later, he sagged against Headhunter.“Payback time, my friend.” He shoved Chuck across the room. “You didn’t really think you were going to get away with it, did you?”Stocky staggered against the bed and fell across it, unable to reply.Headhunter closed and chained the door before flipping off the lights, removing his shades, and walking over to lift Chuck’s legs onto the bed. He knew his companion was acutely aware of his environment even though he was unable to move. Stocky would know everything that happened to him. He wouldn’t have to struggle to remember he’d been screwed.Elevating the helpless man’s head and shoulders on pillows, Headhunter slowly and deliberately stripped away Stocky’s clothing. Then he took the candles he’d left in the room when he rented it and set them on the end tables on either side of the bed. As he put flame to the wicks, he spoke.“You assaulted the wrong guy. I come from a different culture, a different time, really. Back where I grew up, they’re still living back in the middle ages. I learned a lot of things you white boys never even dreamed of. My grandmother’s a curandera. You know what that is? A healer. She taught me everything she knows about herbs and plants.”He hovered over the paralyzed man and studied his frightened eyes. “You know what else they call her? A bruja. A witch. And she is. Now let’s talk about us. You fucked me Friday night. If I wanted my ass fucked, I’d have asked for it. But you didn’t even have the courage to approach me directly. You drugged me before you and your sicko buddies stuck it to me. Well, I’m doing the same thing to you, but with a difference.”He clearly saw the question in those helpless eyes. “I had to figure out what happened to me for myself. You thought I’d never remember what happened. You’re gonna know what’s happening to you without being able to resist. Who knows, maybe you’ll like it.”He undressed before straddling the helpless Chuck’s groin. The prostrate man’s fear-clouded gaze centered on the dark fur on Headhunter’s naked chest. He tried to speak but managed only a passing of breath through his throat.Headhunter put on a little show for his terrified victim, smearing a cross on Chuck’s hairless chest with candle wax and chanting and invoking the Jaguar. It was pure horseshit, but it freaked out the helpless man spread out naked on the bed.“Let me explain things, Stocky. I’ve given you poison.” He held up his ring finger. “See that little indention? There’s a needle in there I coated with a substance my grandmother gave me. I pinched your arm and forced some of the stuff through your skin. Didn’t want to give you too much. Not yet, anyway. A little, and you’re paralyzed, but you know what’s going on. A little more, and you’re a zombie. Not dead, you understand, just helpless and useless and frightened every minute of your miserable life. A little more, and you’re dead for real.“The problem is,” Headhunter went on, “I’m not in the habit of fucking men. I like women. Do a good job on them, but don’t even know if I can get it up with you. You better pray I can, because one way or the other, I’m going to have my revenge.”Half an hour later, Headhunter staggered into the bathroom to clean up, disconcerted that he’d taken some enjoyment in the thing. Oh well, revenge was supposed to be sweet, wasn’t it? That’s why it rang his bell more than he expected, because it was good, old-fashioned vengeance. He finished cleaning up and went back into the room.He studied the man while he dressed. “You lucked out. I’m not going to inject any more venom, so you’re not gonna die or end up a zombie. You’re gonna lie here until the poison works through your system. In a little while you’ll find you can move your hands and feet. Gradually, you’ll recover all the feeling in your extremities. By morning, you’ll be all right.”Headhunter moved to the bed and bent over the helpless man. “Now let me tell you something else. This is the end of it. You took me against my will, and I took you against yours. But at least you didn’t have three other guys watching your humiliation, or taking their turn afterward. If you decide you want to get back at me, so be it. But you’ll be sorry you did. So keep your mouth shut. If you warn the others I’m coming for them, then I’ll come back for you. If you go to the authorities, you can probably lie yourself out of what you did to me and make me pay. But one day I’ll get out of prison, and you won’t like what I’ll do to you. Understand?”A strangled mumble answered him.“Good boy. Now Monday, when we see each other at work, we’re going to act like nothing happened. I know from experience it won’t be easy, but you can do it. And you’re going to hand me a piece of paper with three names and addresses on it. You’re going to write down where each one works. You had to pay; so it’s only fair they do, too. I hope you believe every word I say, because I mean every one of them. I’m going to leave now. Sleep well.” He covered Stocky with a blanket and went out the door without looking back.Diego left the motel wrestling with himself. Had he really done it to Chuck Thalman? No, but Headhunter had. He paused to consider that. Were there two of him? Was he split right down the middle, part savage, part hip and cool?
*****
One down and three to go. Will things go smoothly, or will Diego—or Headhunter, if you prefer—run into some problems? He seems like a capable young man, but when it comes to revenge, who knows? Tune in next week for another episode.
Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but it’ll take some help from readers to get Dreamspinner interested.
My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:Website and blog: markwildyr.comEmail: markwildyr@aol.comFacebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyrTwitter: @markwildyr
The following are buy links for CUT HAND:
DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-bAmazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWViBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2
And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
Mark
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on each Thursday for the life of this serial; thereafter, the first and third Thursdays of the month.

Headhunter – Diego (2)

markwildyr.com, Post #86


Courtesy of PexSnap.com
We pick up the second installment of our serialized story once again with Diego. How will he recover his memory of what happened to him last night?
Hope you enjoy.
*****HEADHUNTER
DIEGO
Natala! The name popped into Diego’s head as he stood beneath the pulsing showerhead. As soon as he got home, he’d checked his time/date clock, determined it was Saturday, which meant he wasn’t missing work, and immediately took another long shower. And with that name, his distant past came flooding back even as last night continued to elude him.Natala was curandera to the Huatani, a remote South American tribe. The tattooed woman from the dream was their healer… and his grandmother. As spiritually powerful as she appeared physically weak, she had been his nurturer, his caregiver, his teacher after his mother was stung to death by a serpent. Her strength came from her talisman, Jaguar, the God of the Underworld.For a long time, he grew up without a significant male in his life. The Christian missionaries treated him, indeed all of the Huatani children with affection, but they represented only a collective masculine influence. He ceased simply being Diego and became Diego Bárbaro the day the Spanish authorities came to the mountains and hauled away the children, claiming they needed a proper education. For years, a dilapidated old bus took the youngsters to the nearest town so one set of foreign prejudices could replace the heresy of another set of foreign missionaries. He learned later of their little joke. Bárbaro was their name for a savage.One day, a tall, slender white man named Dr. Walter Collins returned to the mission near Diego’s village after a thirteen-year absence and learned he had a son. The man and the boy were both shocked. Diego had always known he was different; his flesh was lighter, and he was taller than his playmates. His sharp nose distinguished itself from the flat nostrils around him. But a white man as a father? Why had Natala never told him?Despite an obvious strain between his dark grandmother and his pale father, they tolerated one another rather than rend the boy in two. Natala disapproved but permitted Diego to spend time with his sire. Slowly, he discerned the difference between the two healers, so he understood when one was preferable to the other. In the event of an emergency in the village, he always knew which to summon first.When Diego was fifteen, Dr. Collins was sent home yet again and insisted on taking his son with him. The youth feared an uprising of the clan when Natala set her mind against his leaving, but the white curandero and brown curanderahuddled in her small hut for half a day, and when they emerged, he became Diego Bárbaro Collins and accompanied his father to the North American Southwest. Natala must have agreed to the decision, as his father did not fall to the ground and die in agony. Over time, he learned to love and respect the tall white man until his doctor-father went off on another mission in yet another country last year.After drying off from his second shower of the day, Diego dressed and hunted around for his shades. He wore the darkest smoked glasses he could find, even in class and at the shop because the bright sun hurt his eyes. But when twilight came, he could see a crack in the sidewalk twenty yards away. He didn’t even own a flashlight; he could see adequately even at midnight.Donning the smoked lenses, he walked over to East Central. He took it easy because he still ached in certain places. Chuck Thalman usually worked on Saturdays…that was why Diego did not. But today, the guy’d called in another press operator to cover for him.Diego had a phone number for Chuck but decided to wait until Monday to talk to him. Realizing he was hungry, he headed up to McDonald’s for one of their salads. The food irritated his sore throat, so he went home and gargled with warm saltwater. Then he put a small blanket woven with tribal patterns in the middle of the floor, tucked his legs under him, and sat in a lotus-like position.Friday. After work. He and Chuck ate at a restaurant and then went to The Stomp to to meet some girls. Diego attracted women like mosquitoes. They claimed he was handsome and sexy, but he thought it was just that he didn’t look like anyone else they knew. Whatever it was, he didn’t believe he hooked up with any of them that night.But he did recall meeting two…no, three…of Chuck’s buddies at the big nightclub. The five of them collected at a table with five women sitting at another not ten feet away, obviously available…insistently available. Hell, Diego had danced with a couple of them, but each time he returned to the women’s table, one of the guys would call him over and get him involved in something.He remembered drinking a lot, but they wouldn’t let him pay for a round. One of them kept saying South American money wasn’t any good up here, laughing every time. It got tiresome.Diego shifted on the mat and frowned. He couldn’t remember anything beyond that point. Had he gotten so drunk he passed out, and the guys dumped him in a motel? He’d drunk himself into oblivion a few times, but not lately. And he’d neverfelt like this when he regained his senses. He didn’t feel rotten enough, sick enough for a hangover that major. Something was strange.Diego had learned a few things during those formative years with his brujagrandmother. He closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled deeply four times, one for each of the cardinal points, and then took two more deep breaths, one each for the underworld and the upperworld.His mind reeled backwards until the dark, tangled jungle of home became imprinted upon his closed lids. Towering trees crowded the shore of a broad, muddy river. A cat, a huge tawny beast with dark rosettes, lifted its head from the water and stared through yellow eyes while its muzzle trickled water back into the river.That was good. Jaguar was Natala’s kinsman. His mind raced down the river to the spot where it broadened and swept past a thatch and mud village, his village. Natala materialized, wrinkled and old and strong and mystical, inspiring fear and love. She smiled, giving encouragement to his efforts. That, too, was good.Wisps of clouds obscured his vision as he traveled through time and space, arriving at a raucous table in a crowded, smoky nightclub. And then as if he were a disinterested party, he stood apart to watch the interplay of five young men huddled around a small table. One he thought of as Headhunter tried to isolate a woman at a nearby table while his companions vied for his attention.His eyelids fluttered as his mystical self saw what the women at the next table saw, an uncommonly attractive group of men, all of an age. Diego’s spirit eye regarded each.Chuck, the guy he worked with, was a stocky, brown-haired, likeable man. He was attractive to women because he represented stability.John, a diminutive, bantam rooster-type with mousy hair, was loud and obnoxious. Diego dismissed him as Pipsqueak.Ruggedly handsome, the dude called Rocco looked somehow foreign with black hair and brown eyes that roved restlessly and saw everything with the same watchful wariness as Headhunter.But the last guy, Ritchie, was the one to keep an eye on. With his open, yellow-haired, pretty-boy looks, Leader had choreographed the whole evening.Allowing his mind to float, Diego saw the party break up. The four men ushered Headhunter outside and piled into two cars. The procession stopped at a motel on East Central. They practically had to carry Headhunter inside. Using the deep, hypnotic trance of his bruja grandmother to part the chemical clouds of his mind, Diego watched the entire night unfold.Headhunter had been helpless, weak beyond belief. They stripped him and laid him on the bed. The four men chattered like excited monkeys as they examined and poked his flesh. The duskiness, the difference fascinated them. They fanned the strange orange-gold patterns in his hair and rubbed curious hands through the gold-flecked black mat on his chest.Diego’s eyes opened in shock as those lost hours were revealed to him. His breath came in short gasps, his skin prickled, his heart raced as he understood what each had done to him. Then a calmness settled over him as his grandmother’s instructions came through the ether. No, he wouldn’t take their heads. He wouldn’t even kill them. But as the grandson of a bruja, as a man, he couldn’t let this pass. It wasn’t the sex so much as the way they’d done it. And he would use all the skills Natala had stuffed into his head to pay them back.

*****
It looks as though a gang rape might have consequences, at least if Diego has his way. What’s he up to? Revenge, most likely.
Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but it’ll take some help from readers to get Dreamspinner interested.
My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:Website and blog: markwildyr.comEmail: markwildyr@aol.comFacebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyrTwitter: @markwildyr
The following are buy links for CUT HAND:
DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-bAmazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWViBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2
And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
Mark
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on each Thursday for the life of this serial; thereafter, the first and third Thursdays of the month.

Mark Wildyr: Headhunter – Diego

Mark Wildyr: Headhunter – Diego: markwildyr.com, Post #85 Courtesy of PexSnap.com I’m trying something a little different this time. A serialized story, each episo...

Headhunter – Diego

markwildyr.com, Post #85
Courtesy of PexSnap.comI’m trying something a little different this time. A serialized story, each episode with its own subheading. And while it’s playing, I’ll suspend my regular timeline and post a new episode at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday morning. After “Headhunter” ends, I’ll return to the first and third Thursday.
Hope you enjoy
*****HEADHUNTER
DIEGO
A spasm, an involuntary muscular contraction shook the bed. In an explosion of brain synapses, he fought his way out of the void, out of the clutches of a dream. A nightmare. A reality. Whatever.He opened an encrusted eye and blearily examined his surroundings. A box. A beige box. Cheap prints on the wall. Stale, frigid air. Ah…a motel room. He lifted the covers with a shaky hand. Naked. Alone and bare-assed on a bed in some motel room. What the hell did that mean? A name edged into his consciousness. Diego. He was Diego. And with the name, came fleeting flashes of vivid greens and muddy browns. Verdant jungles, mud flats beside a broad, brown river. Laughing, happy mud children. A magnificent cat—a jaguar. And a dark old woman with wrinkled flesh and tribal tattoos.He blew air through his nostrils and shook his aching head. He needed to concentrate on the here and now…and the who. They came slowly. He was Diego Bárbaro Collins. He worked at Albuquerque Fast Ink, a print shop on Central NE across the street from the University of New Mexico where he took some classes. Twenty-five-years-old. Yeah, that felt right.Ok, that’s the who and the where. Now to the what. The last thing he remembered was early Friday night. He and Chuck decided to go out. Chuck? Oh, yeah. The blond guy from work. They’d started bumming around together lately. Chuck’s doing; not his. He was a loner. They’d gone to a Mex place for enchilada plates. Then what? His fuzzy mind groped for an answer.The Stomp! That C&W place out on East Central. Met some of Chuck’s friends there. Then what? Women at a nearby table. But that was as far as his conscious mind took him. From there, the unconscious—the nightmare—took over. The horrid dream he couldn’t quite wrap his memory around.Diego shifted on the bed, generating several sensations—a terrible taste in his mouth, scratchy sore throat, dry cough, and a bruised body. Had he fallen on his ass? Had a fight? What the hell happened last night?Battling big-time lethargy, Diego dragged himself from bed and staggered naked around the room looking for something. What? Anything. Blood. A body. A blonde. All he found were his clothes tied into knots. Who in the hell would do that?He lurched into the bathroom to take an urgent piss before shuffling to the basin and staring at the stranger in the mirror. For a panicked second, he thought some jungle headhunter was glaring at him. Instantly, two fleeting images flashed before his eyes: the brown, tattooed old woman and that great yellow-eyed, spotted cat. He shook his head to clear his mind and examined his own dusky image. Crap, it was like meeting himself for the first time.Ink on his brown arms…like the old woman’s tattoos. Yellow eyes with black, bottomless irises…like the cat’s. Thick, black, hair with odd patches of yellow like the spots on a leopard. He ran a hand through his hair, but the bits of color didn’t come out. His wiry body was almost totally hairless except for an expanse of fur—there was no other word for it—between his nipples. Silky black and spotted with yellow rosettes. Again, like a leopard. Gooseflesh puckered his back. No, not a leopard…a jaguar!Seized by the feeling he was dirty… contaminated, Diego stumbled into the shower and soaped himself repeatedly until his skin squeaked. Toweling off, he felt clean but not cleansed, whatever the hell that meant. At least the shower had leached away the muscle soreness. Discovering a brush and tube of toothpaste—apparently complements of the motel—he worked vigorously to erase the foul taste in his mouth. A pocket comb from his knotted pants forced his unruly black and yellow hair into some semblance of order.In a sudden rush to be out of the place, Diego untied his knotted clothing and dressed in the wrinkled duds. Now he no longer looked like a headhunter; he resembled a bum from the downtown area. As he left the room, he recognized his car parked right outside. He’d given the 2005 Mustang a custom yellow paint job last year. He got in and kicked over the motor. The throaty roar of the engine brought to mind the jaguar again. Still feeling shaky, he drove straight back to his apartment on Roma NE, a ground unit within walking distance of both the U and his work. How had he known where he lived?During the entire trip, he puzzled over what had happened on the night lost to him… the previous twelve hours or so.
*****
Well, well, well. It looks as though something has happened to Diego. How does he find out what? Can his curandera grandmother or the Jaguar god help? Let’s see how Diego’s handles things next week.
Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but it’ll take some help from readers to get Dreamspinner interested.
My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:Website and blog: markwildyr.comEmail: markwildyr@aol.comFacebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyrTwitter: @markwildyr
The following are buy links for CUT HAND:
DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-bAmazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWViBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2
And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
Mark
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on each Thursday for the life of this serial; thereafter, the first and third Thursdays of the month.

Mark Wildyr: Lodestar (A Story in Three Parts)

Mark Wildyr: Lodestar (A Story in Three Parts): markwildyr.com, Post #83 Courtesy of Brillo So Jim was not abandoned as he had begun to fear. Lokai returned to his side. Now what...

Lodestar (A Story in Three Parts)

markwildyr.com, Post #83
Courtesy of BrilloSo Jim was not abandoned as he had begun to fear. Lokai returned to his side. Now what? Will the handsome Indian fulfill his big promise, and if he does, how will he react afterward. Read on.
*****
LODESTAR(Part Three)
Our preparations were almost surreal. We ate. We bathed. Lodai braided his hair while I scraped the sparse bristle from my face. I watched him, not quite able to believe what was going to happen. One thing I knew; he would not fumble around like John and me. This man would be firm in his love-making.At sundown, Lodai laid a modest fire and spread his blankets. “It is time,” he said, loosening his breechclout. I experienced paralysis for a moment before recovering the use of my limbs. Then we stood naked and examined one another frankly in the twilight.“You are a handsome man. I am proud that you want me,” Lodai said quietly. The words sounded true.Strong arms closed about me. His lips touched my face, but I felt them in my stones. Burning with excitement, I slid down his torso, tasting, licking, feeling. His skin was taut satin; his muscles, hard and unyielding.The aggressiveness of my oral assault and the strength of his reaction seemed to take him by surprise. He lay back on the blankets and pulled me into the crook of his arm. Unwilling to spoil the afterglow, I did nothing, said nothing. His hard, lithe body warm against mine was pleasure enough.Suddenly, he rolled atop me. “I did not expect the thing to be so powerful. It was a thing to remember,” he mused.Lodai studied me through the darkness. Then he gave me a proper kiss. I went weak. He forced my legs apart, and I yielded to his renewed passion. Delirious with joy, mad with strange, wonderful sensations, stretched to capacity by this beautiful man, I was lost.Almost comatose, I lay panting beside him after our fulfillment. I sensed that he was at peace with what we had done. I certainly was. Our lovemaking had surpassed anything I ever experienced, making me fear its absence in the future. Reluctant to break the silence, yet needing to know, I asked him the meaning of his name.“Lodestar,” he answered easily.“Lodestar! Polaris. The guiding star! That’s what you are,” I murmured. “My guiding star. I love you, my Lodestar.”

That was a lunation ago. Since that wonderful night, we moved to an abandoned settler’s cabin high in the hills where we will winter. Lodestar was a bold and imaginative lover. What he had not done was verbally express his feelings.Today, he returned in a new pair of buckskin leggings. His breechcloth was freshly laundered, and he wore a short deerskin vest across his broad chest. A choker of small animal bones draped his strong neck. His hair, braided and bound by a hairbine, was adorned with two hawk feathers. He held out a vest and a leather hat, both fashioned from deer hide by his own fingers.“These are my bridal gifts, Jim Tobar,” he intoned solemnly. “I come to take you as my winkte wife. I want you as my mate. Will you have me? For as long as we live?”Speechless, I nodded, a happy smile breaking across my lips. He stripped off his finery and gave me the thrumming of my life. I do not believe that even he was prepared for the powerful ejaculation that came. My Lodai, my beautiful Lodestar had proclaimed his love the best way he knew how. And he did it magnificently!THE END*****
All’s well that ends well, right? Jim wasn’t abandoned; Lokai kept his promise… and how! And Jim helped his companion recover from the loss of his people. What could be better?
Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but it’ll take some help from readers to get Dreamspinner interested.
My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:Website and blog: markwildyr.comEmail: markwildyr@aol.comFacebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyrTwitter: @markwildyr
The following are buy links for CUT HAND:
DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-bAmazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWViBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2
And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
Mark
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and third Thursdays of each month.

Mark Wildyr: Lodestar (A Story in Three Parts)

Mark Wildyr: Lodestar (A Story in Three Parts): markwildyr.com, Post #83 Courtesy of Brillo Time for the second installment of our story. In case you are confused, Lodai’s name m...

Lodestar (A Story in Three Parts)

markwildyr.com, Post #83
Courtesy of BrilloTime for the second installment of our story. In case you are confused, Lodai’s name mean Lodestar in English. And lodestar is another name for the North Star. Again, this installment is longer than usual for a blog, but I hope you’ll stick with it.
So here we go on the morning after Jim Tobar and his two companions capture an injured Indian following the assault of White Hair’s band by the militia.
*****
LODESTAR(Part Two)
In the morning, the Indian’s calm eyes studied me carefully as I hand-fed him breakfast and a cup of water. After that, we resumed our trek with the prisoner’s ankles tied by a length of rope below his pinto’s belly.We were headed for some scalawag trader’s camp along the trail, but I had not realized we were so close. Mid-afternoon we approached the post situated in a grove of cottonwoods on a small, fast stream. The paint-starved main building—which leaned drunkenly windward—was flanked by a smaller outhouse and a sagging necessary situated downwind. Our party caused a minor commotion. The trader, a one-eyed, greasy man named Tate, greeted my companions by name, as did the customer at the bar, a jadish character who went by the handle of Hoover.“Damnation, Auslander,” Trader Tate said, squinting at our captive. “Whut ya doin’ with White Hair’s son?”“Who?” Hap asked.“That Injun ya got tussled up. He’s White Hair’s kid. Name’s Lodai.”“Be damned,” Nettles said. “We come across him on the trail. Figger he pulled it when the troopers hit.”“Heard ‘bout that. Apt to bring more trouble than profit. Old White Hair was all right.” Tate turned to the captive. “Yer old man make it out, Lodai?”The Indian made a noise low in his throat. “No.”Hap turned on him abruptly. “You talk English?”Tate laughed. “An old papist priest went to live with them years back. Taught the young’uns to talk it. Whut’cha doing with him, anyhow?”“Commanding officer a that militia commissioned us to kill any stragglers we come across.”“So how come he ain’t dead?” Hooverasked from the end of the bar.Auslander didn’t answer the question directly. “You got women close by?”From the look on the man's face, Hoover caught on immediately. “No closer’n White Hair’s camp, and them won’t do nobody no good.”Hap turned to Tate. “You got objections?”“Not ‘less you gonna be hoggish,” the trader said, proving himself a false friend to the dead White Hair.Auslander laughed, a sound not pleasant to the ear. “Plenty for everbody. Right now, I wanna wet down the idea.”“Lock him in the outbuilding.” Tate suggested.Seeking escape, I headed for the necessary, alert for the rattlesnakes Tate had cautioned about. I encountered no cold-blooded reptiles, but if I had, they would have been preferable to the four drinking inside the trading post. I exited the foul one-hole shack as Auslander and Nettles started for the trading post after locking Lodai in the outhouse. When they were safely inside, I eased over to the building, lifted the wooden latch, and slipped inside.“You all right?” I asked, pulling a hog-tied Lodai to his feet.“You will help?” His deep voice sent gooseflesh down my back.“If I can figure a way without getting myself in trouble.”“You can come with me,” he said, a frown of worry creasing his brow. “My hands are dead, and I will need them to work when the time comes.”It took overlong to cut the cruel knot without slicing into his flesh. Lodai almost cried aloud as the blood rushed back into his hands.“I will be back. I want to see what they’re up to,” I whispered, beginning to realize the consequences of my actions.All conversation died abruptly when I entered the post. The room was unnaturally quiet; evil emanated like a green miasma from the table where the four men huddled. In that instant I determined my better chance lay with the Indian.Hap boomed in an overly loud voice. “Thought you fell in.” The other three laughed. The spell was broken, and they resumed talking.I interrupted, hoping my voice sounded normal. “I’m gonna water the horses. Can I use your stock tank, Mr. Tate?”“That what it’s for.”“Want me to water yours, too, Mr. Hoover?”“Right kind a you, son.”The hot animals eagerly dipped thirsty muzzles into the big tank. After transferring Lodai’s rifle and bow to his pony, along with some supplies from our packs, I hid our two mounts behind the outbuilding, leaving the others to over-fill their stomachs. It was cruel, but better than hamstringing them.Lodai stood ready to fight when I slipped through the door. “I’ve got horses and weapons and food to sustain us for a while.”“Good,” he grunted, starting for the door. I stayed him with a hand on his arm; his firm, silken flesh set my fingers to trembling.“I need your promise, Lodai.”He looked me level in the eye. “You have my promise.”“N-no,” I stuttered, thrilled by the reaffirmation. “I want your promise not to kill them.”He frowned. Clearly, this was not his wish. Then his expression eased. “This promise I give. We will run away like children.” He started for the door. “Unless they catch us. Then I will kill.”I dropped the latch on the door, hoping it would be some time before the men in the post discovered we were gone. Lodai eyed the three horses around the water tank.“Don’t worry, they’re bloated,” I said, tugging him around the corner of the outbuilding. We mounted and headed back down the same trail we had traveled earlier in the day, keeping the outbuilding between the trading post and ourselves. Once over the rise, Lodai slowed his pony to a walk.“Don’t wind them.”“Lodai,” I spoke my unease openly, “I’m lost if you betray me.”“I will not betray you,” he answered. “Give me some of that pack in case we have to run for it.”Night fell with no sign of pursuers, but Lodai traveled deep into the darkness. We sheltered for a short while in a small wash but were on the move again by dawn. We stayed horseback all day. When the light began to fail, Lodai drew Red Hand, his pony, around and searched the distance behind us.“They come,” he said, resuming a leisurely pace. “They are far behind. They will keep coming tonight, but not gain much ground. Tomorrow is the time to hurry.”We traveled the night through. Under a bright hunting moon, Lodai halted in the middle of a broad, shallow stream and instructed me to dismount. Taking only my rifle and blankets, I waded to the northwest, trying to reassure myself he was traveling south—with my Nellie’s reins in his hand—to lay a false trail, not to abandon me on this broad, lonesome prairie. The icy water soon bent my fears into concern for my numbed feet, but I resisted the temptation to walk the bank. Draping the blankets around me helped until I fell headlong into the water.Slogging along against the current made the journey seem longer, but sometime in mid-morning, I found the pile of big boulders Lodai had described and designated as our meeting place. Climbing into the midst of the stones, I dozed on the sun-drenched rocks like a cold-blooded creature, moving with the sun until I was dry, then seeking the cool shade. Only then did I begin to despair. Had I played the fool by handing over my mare to Lodai?
*****Has Jim Tobar been abandoned by, Lodai? Tricked into handing over his pony and left to fend for himself afoot on the prairie? The next installment will tell all.
Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but it’ll take some help from readers to get Dreamspinner interested.
My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:Website and blog: markwildyr.comEmail: markwildyr@aol.comFacebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyrTwitter: @markwildyr
The following are buy links for CUT HAND:
DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-bAmazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWViBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2
And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
Mark
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and third Thursdays of each month.

Lodestar (A Story in Three Parts)

markwildyr.com, Post #82
   Courtesy of BrilloLet’s go for a short story this time. Not a short, short story, but one that will take us three installments to finish. I first wrote Lodestar years ago and sold it to the editor of an anthology. I came across it again and decided I’d like to shorten it and see if it flies today. So here’s the first part of the story It’s far longer than usual for a blog, but I hope you’ll stick with it.
*****
LODESTAR ( Part One)

A penetrating chill pulled me from my sleep as the distant rumble of thunder and ghostly flashes broke the half-light of dawn. I abandoned the bedroll to find my two companions scanning the Little Humps, a line of low hills to the west.“Rain?” I asked, scratching my bum where a rock had rendered it sore.“Ain’t thunder,” Hap Auslander replied. “Somebody gittin’ the crap stomped outa ‘em.”“Military guns. Big ones,” Henry Nettles added. “They’s a Injun town over yonder.”Hap tied his bedroll on Speckles, the Appaloosa he rode. “Best be moving. Keep a sharp eye out. Stragglers is apt to be tetchy.”We took the trail in single file with me bringing up the rear. Half a day on the trail passed before Nettles hauled up and pointed west.“By, God, it’s the troopers that done it!” Hap shouted as horsemen appeared on the horizon. We waited silently while the blue column approached. As the riders passed, a man broke ranks and rode over to us. Two others fell in behind him. The fella in front, a runty man with gold all over his hat and on his shoulders pulled up and gave us the once over.“Major Elijah Raintree, commander of the Southfork Militia at your service. Who might you be?”“Hap Auslander of St. Jo. This here’s Henry Nettles outa Independence. The young’un’s Jim Tobar, a eastern man. We be bound for Ft. Johnson. You fellers wallop ‘em good?”“Old White Hair’s outfit won’t give no more problems.”“White Hair?” Nettles asked in surprise. “White Hair was under paint?”The major’s eyes went flat. “They’re all under paint, far’s we’re concerned.”The major favored us with a personal account of his heroic attack on the red heathens while his column of two hundred or so blue-clad soldiers and four wheel-mounted guns passed, leaving a broad trail on the prairie flats. His parting words sent a chill through my heart and left me wondering what this popinjay did for a living when he wasn’t murdering human beings.“Should you encounter any survivors, you have my authority to dispatch them forthwith. I want no living heathens left between the Bent Fork and Elk River.”After the major and his aides were out of earshot, Nettles turned to us. “Hell, White Hair wasn’t no war chief. That’s why them bluebellies had such a easy time.”“A Injun’s a Injun, Nettles. Wouldn’t go ‘round takin’ the red man’s side, I was you,” Auslander cautioned. “Let’s be on our way.”As we crossed the trampled earth marking the column’s passing, Henry Nettles’s head wobbled on his thin, wrinkled neck. Auslander, a thick, squat man of grizzled hair and beard, gave me the nasty eye, making me wonder once again why I was in the company of these men. I had never contemplated the frontier until events conspired to place me here.

Too young to fight in the War Between the States, I watched helplessly as that bloody conflict destroyed my family. It killed my brother outright and maimed my father into a grave two long years coming. My Aunt Bella, a well-settled widow, took me in when the fever carried off Ma’am. Perversely, life grew easier, but Providence has a fine set of scales and knows how to balance them.I would likely have married Mistress Penelope Greenstem, to my eternal regret, had not her brother John pursued me into the hayloft where we learned that males can pleasure one another without benefit of the opposite gender. In time, we were discovered, and I was loudly proclaimed a pederast—one of Satan’s foulest demons. Aunt Bella hastily sent me on my way with a small packet of coins, the law and the rector of the Puritan Church dusting my heels. That was near onto a twelve-month past.The fabled Santa Fe Trail beckoned until a chance encounter with skinny-shanked, pot-bellied Henry Nettles inclined me toward accompanying him to Ft. Johnson where opportunities abounded for industrious young men. Twice my twenty years, Nettles was not totally disagreeable, although his manners and morals required a smidgen of understanding. But who was I to complain about morals? It is not clear why he craved my company since my obvious assets were limited to a few silver and copper discs, an excellent repeating rifle, and Nellie, my good mare.A week out of Independence, Hap Auslander, an old associate of Nettles’s joined us on the trail. I neither liked nor trusted the grum ruffian. To make matters worse, Nettles coarsened under Auslander’s influence. The deeper we penetrated the plains, the more uneasy I became, especially when the galoot cast an ugly, speculating glance my way, leaving me to wonder if I trailed the stench of sodomy in my wake.

Two hours down the trail Nettles hauled his horse to a stop. The hair on my neck bristled. Even to my tenderfoot eyes, the pony grazing on the trail ahead was an Indian horse. Small, spotted, and haltered with buffalo hide, it had a bright blanket tied across its back and a vivid red hand painted on one rump. Rifle in hand, Nettles reined to the right as Auslander continued up the trail, leaving the left to me. My mouth went dry as we crept through belly-high grass. My heart tumbled into my bowels when Nellie broke the pinto’s trail. Something lay on the ground. I dismounted and crept forward. An Indian lay face down, his head obscured by long, black hair. I judged him to be tall and slender, yet well-built. Suddenly, someone shoved me roughly aside. I struggled to bring my rifle to bear.“Hold it!” Hap snarled, kneeling beside the body. “I ain’t no red devil.”“Damn, Hap!” I gasped, indulging in a rare vulgarity. “Give a body some warning.”“A man gives warning in this country, he’s apt to meet his maker.” He turned the body over, drawing a gasp from both of us. “This heathen’s still breathin’.”The Indian was young and comely. I would have thought him a beautiful woman, but his manhood was scarcely concealed by a loincloth. The only other articles of clothing were short, deerskin moccasins. A bloody bruise marred the right side of his broad forehead.“Hellfire and damnation!” Nettles exclaimed as he joined us. “He alive?”“Yep,” Auslander replied, his piggish eyes sweeping the inert form. My examination was little better. I was seized by the same emotion as when John first exposed himself to me.“Lordy! He’s purty as a woman!” Nettles chortled.Auslander’s stubby fingers prodded the youth’s breast. One finger rested on a dark brown aureole. “Help me get him on that pinto.”“Ain’t ya gonna scalp him?” Nettles asked as they bound the unconscious Indian and slung him belly down on his pony. Auslander made no reply.We traveled perhaps another hour before a grove of trees in the distance signaled water. Hap led the pinto to a shallow pool and shoved the Indian over the side. He hit the water on his back and sat up without uttering a sound.“Playin’ possum, you miserable whoreson! I oughta take your scalp right now!”The bronzed youth sitting in a foot of water held his tongue.“He don’t talk American, Hap,” Nettles opined.Auslander waded into the water and grabbed a handful of the Indian’s hair, placing his knife to the scalp. “Ya unnerstand this?”The young man sat absolutely motionless. Overcoming his blood lust, Hap hauled his prisoner onto the bank. The bound Indian fell against a tree, opening the bruised cut on his forehead. I rushed forward and pulled him upright, feeling the strength in the muscles beneath my hands as I worked to staunch the flow of blood.“How come we ain’t killing him?” The longer Henry Nettles was around Hap Auslander, the more offensive he became. Only a few hours back, he was concerned by the attack on White Hair’s camp. Now he seemed anxious to kill one of the chief’s people.“I aim to take his crown, Henry. And I’m gonna make a traveling bag outa that pretty hide. But I got plans for him first. Like you said, he’s looks womanly.”“That I did,” Nettles said. “A pretty woman was what I said. We gonna leap him, Hap?”“I reckon that’s the idea in my head. But I ain’t in no hurry.”I looked down at my patient. My hand still held a tattered rag against his forehead. My leg touched his shoulder. “I gotta get that head wound to stop bleeding.”“That you do. I don’t want him bleeding all over me.”Nettles stepped in before things deteriorated further, declaring he wasn’t having a cold cap tonight, Indians or no Indians. He wanted hot food even if it was the death of him. The fire he laid cooked victuals but provided scant protection from the elements.I spread my blankets on the far side of a little rise in the glen to put distance between me and a probable rape. Wrapped in my blankets, I peered over the hillock and recoiled. Auslander had laid the Indian directly on the other side; I stared into his alert black eyes from a distance of less than two feet. Unsettled, I lay back on my blankets. I don’t know how long I slept before a persistent hiss woke me. Cautiously, I lifted my head. A stray shaft of moonlight reflected in the Indian’s eyes.“Help me, and I will lie with you,” he whisperedMy mouth was open in shock when Auslander’s voice called out. “Whut’s goin’ on?” The Indian immediately uttered something in his own tongue.“He’s a prayin’,” Nettles ventured.Auslander moved on his prisoner. There was the sound of a struggle, harsh blows on naked flesh. The Indian began to chant.“Miserable bastard,” Hap cursed. “What’s he doing that for?”Nettles cackled. “That’s his death song, Hap. He’s telling you you’ll have ta kill him ‘fore you can fuck him.”The Indian’s chant faltered as Auslander struck him repeatedly. Without thinking, I rose and rushed through the darkness, butting into the bully with a loud grunt. Nettles intervened before the enraged man assaulted me.“Damnation, Hap. The kid was coming to help and tripped. Didn’t mean no harm. Let’s get some sleep. You can cover the Injun later. Better in the daylight anyways.”The danger past for the moment, I covered our prisoner’s nearly naked body with one of my own blankets and lay back on my bedding. The Indian had spoken in English! He understood what was in store for him. That made him dangerous. I should have told my companions but did not. This was different from John and me. This was evil! Nonetheless, the handsome heathen’s words rattled around in my head. Help me, and I will lie with you.

*****What happens when a young man’s sense of decency and fair play collides with his carnal desires? And how did the young prisoner know what bait to cast? Let’s see what happens next time.
Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but it’ll take some help from readers to get Dreamspinner interested.
My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:Website and blog: markwildyr.comEmail: markwildyr@aol.comFacebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyrTwitter: @markwildyr
The following are buy links for CUT HAND:
DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-bAmazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWViBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2
And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
Mark

New posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and third Thursdays of each month.