C7 Christmas Eve Freak Show
Easy money meant everything to Chauncey. He was one of Joe China’s best customers. He could flip slaves at a profit of five hundred percent to his neighbors in Pacific Heights. Those frat boys didn’t know anything about this market. References to human traffic or slave trade never passed their lips. He was the only one in his social set who would stoop to such an enterprise.
But Chauncey loved watching the looks on their faces when they hurried off in a limo with a few foreign teenagers, headed off to yet another hypocritical escapade at some private party fueled by the best drugs on the planet.
Nothing was sacred anymore.
“I think you’re going to like our selection tonight,” Joe China said to Chauncey, as he pulled out the chair for Chauncey to sit down at the small table near the stage. “We have a new product line, trained to please specialized tastes.”
He handed Chauncey the menu for his current inventory.
“That sounds fine,” Chauncey said and took the leather-bound four-color catalogue. “My client has a brother who likes a few kinks in his merchandise.”
“It is always wise to include the family in sharing holiday abun- dance. We must consider it a gift to ourselves.”
Chauncey admired the cut of the sharkskin suit Joe China was wearing.
“Armani?” he asked.
“Chinese tailor,” Joe China said and left Chauncey to consider his prospects for the night.
A naked Filipino girl appeared at the table and set down a bottle of Chauncey’s favorite vodka, along with a bucket of ice and a glass.
She let her hip rest against him when she loaded the ice and poured the vodka, but Chauncey was more intrigued by the blond Chinese girl who was still singing onstage. She was petite as a twelve year old, but she looked like twenty-one.
If there was one thing Chauncey wasn’t into, it was kid sex. But sex with the body of a kid in the body of a woman was not forbidden. Chauncey opened his silver suitcase, sitting on the floor by his side, and secreted the pound of coke to his table. The naked waitress quickly appeared with a black onyx tray and set it in front of him. Again, she nudged him with her hip, but he was opening the huge bag of coke. She probably envied the other waitresses she saw sitting on the laps of other customers, enjoying unending lines of the white
powder.
Chauncey spooned out the coke with the small spoon provided
on the tray. He told her to get him a bigger spoon. She nudged him again and went off with her lip in a pout.
But Chauncey wasn’t watching her. He was making sure the little blond noticed what he was doing. No matter how much coke was on any other table, Chauncey’s always stood out.
He considered himself the bad boy of the ruling class. His greed for coke was exhibited by the size of his first two lines.
He could feel the boner coming. He could feel the easy money. He considered it a toast to a capital day.
The waitress brought him a tablespoon and this time bumped him enough to get his attention. When he turned, she had her upturned hand on her ass, waving goodbye to him.
Any other night, he would have bought her and beat her to death. Chauncey had tasted the thrill of murder. It was the darkest kink of all. Once Joe China sold you a slave, he never inquired about its health. But he had no desire to kill the little blond onstage.
The short yellow skirt she wore revealed a hard, round ass when she turned her back to the audience and bent into the microphone in her hand. When she spun around again, all the ribbons in the head- dress on the crown of her head would flutter, as well as the braided pigtails, which covered her naked breasts. As the pigtails fluttered, a subtle taste of her nipples peered through a few of the fine hairs. They were the longest nipples Chauncey had ever seen.
Chauncey was a big-tit man normally, but something in this little things’ sexual aura compelled him. He wanted to gobble them up like a delightful holiday meal. There would be plenty of time to recover for seconds at Nora’s family gathering.
The little blond Asian was gazing back at him. Easy sex was the second best thing to easy money, Chauncey liked to tell himself. All he had to do was hand over the cash.
His boner was out of control now.
She did a small turn and looked back over her shoulder at him, as if she was beckoning him. Chauncey laid out a couple tablespoons of snow.
The pain in the ass was back again, ostensibly to refill his glass with ice, using the tongs in the ice bucket, and then freshening his drink. Chauncey ignored her while he dosed himself with shit.
Then he laid out two more lines and grabbed her by the ass and pushed her head into the black onyx tray. He closed a hand over her ass and squeezed until she was screaming in pain. At the same time, he took her hair by the roots and held her head in place so her face was pressed against the black onyx tray.
None of the pain bothered her.
She was snorting and licking until he pulled her hair back. When he pulled her head back, her face was covered in white powder. Everyone around his table enjoyed Chauncey’s humiliation of her. Three butch lesbians in the booth behind him couldn’t control their laughter.
Once he was sure everyone had seen her looking like a coke clown, Chauncey turned her around and pushed her so hard toward the booth of butch lesbians that she slid across the table. They scram- bled to paw at her and pull her into their company. She looked comatose and gave herself easily to anything they wanted.
Chauncey turned back to the little blond onstage. She was wagging her finger at him as if he was a bad little boy. Her seductive smile suggested that she might enjoy belonging to a bad little boy. There was no longer any question that Chauncey was going to fit her into his holiday calendar.
He had the coke to make her happy. He had the coke to get through Nora’s family dinner. It was about time he started enjoying the holidays.
Chauncey sat back and sipped his drink and waited for the little blond to finish her song. When she was finished, she turned away as if she was leaving the stage, with that slightly turned shoulder, as she looked back seductively at Chauncey Gibbons, and led her feath- er-waving dancers off stage.
Chauncey looked over the menu while stagehands changed the set in anticipation of the Freak Show. The menu was sectioned into nationalities, and then age groups within nationalities, with photos and prices of each product, beginning with ten-year-olds and stop- ping with thirty-year-olds.
Once a slave hit thirty, it was sold to a distributor of domes- tics. Once their career as domestic slaves was finished, they were sold off in batches to the lower-level crime syndicates that would farm them out for gangbangs, birthday parties, and low-budget blowjobs. Finally, they were sold for their organs and buried with the pittance they were paid as slaves.
Most slaves were sold multiple times during their productive years, but Joe China specialized in first-time slaves, girls or boys who had only recently been abducted and never passed through a brothel before arriving at Joe’s place. Joe had the papers to prove it. Joe could get virgins if the demand was great enough. Chauncey had never heard of Joe being unable to fill an order.
Chauncey stopped at a section of girls who had just arrived from Lithuania. They were blond-haired beauties with arched eyes and high cheekbones and a mouth full of puffy lips you could spend a lifetime soothing. Some of the other Eastern Europeans had similar qualities.
El Presidente liked white meat. White pussy made his little dick feel like rocket. Anytime Chauncey brought him dark meat, he went into a Latin fuss. He had all dark meat he wanted sitting beneath those banana trees.
El Presidente had a chain of brothels across the country. He controlled the whore market in his country.
Chauncey pulled the order form and silver pen from the back of the red leather menu and began to make his choices.
• Twenty-five Lithuanians
• Ten Hungarians
• Fifteen Czechs
• Ten Poles
• Twelve Bulgarians
• Eighteen Russians
• Eight Romanians
• Two Somalis
He ordered the two Somalis for El Generalissimo, a loyal nation- alist when it came to the color of pussy. El Generalissimo was under the impression that black meat contained the spirits of his ancestors, no matter where the whores were purchased, or what culture they claimed to represent. He was a man of his own mind. He would be happy with Chauncey’s choices.
Those Somali bitches were noir, to say the least. In any case, they made his tiny dick feel a foot long. It was always good to please the customer. It was always good to leave the customer feeling good about the sale, as if it was something that had improved their lives at a good price.
Chauncey closed the menu and left the order form on top.
He imagined himself in conversation at Christmas dinner with Nora’s father, describing the water deal he had closed with a hundred whores to top it off. Papa Evans admired bastards like Chauncey Gibbons. He would love to have a son-in-law like Chauncey Gibbons.
One day, they would sit on the deck of the house in Napa, overlooking the vineyards, boasting about the motherfuckers they
had become in life, sharing laughs and stories about their success in robbing other people blind.
He imagined his pathetic peers, at home with their wives and kids, all caught up in boring security, holding down day jobs that netted them a few mil a year, not one of them getting a new Bentley from Santa, and now sitting in the flesh pot of the world.
And not a fucking one of them was going to announce their engagement to Nora Evans in the next twenty-four hours.
Easy money was everything.
Easy money was everything.
Easy money was everything.
Chauncey seemed pulled from a dream by the drumroll onstage. The Freak Show was about to begin. It was a bunch of deep-
pocket tourist shit, but Chauncey enjoyed the antics. What the hell, it was Christmas Eve.
He laid out a couple more lines with the tablespoon on the black onyx tray. He took it up the nose like he was sucking up two pieces of string. Then he sucked on the back of his throat and washed it down with vodka.
Another naked waitress appeared out of nowhere like a breeze of silk and refreshed his glass. When he looked down, he noticed that his order form was gone. He turned to see her heading for the door that led to Joe China’s office.
The MC somersaulted onto the stage and stepped up to the microphone stand, which was about three feet high. The MC was a midget with black pigtails, wearing red silk pajamas and a black silk Pillbox hat. He took the mic and stepped up to the lip of the stage.
“Welcome! Welcome! Welcome, one and all!” he shouted. “Welcome to Joe China’s Christmas Eve Freak Show!”
“Yeah!” all the fifty-year-old fat frat boys sang out in unison.
The midget told a few slave jokes and got a few laughs, but the crowd was here for the freaks.
Finally, they booed him offstage and the auctioneer danced onto the stage, wearing a pinstripe zoot suit, and a headdress of reindeer antlers.
All the slave girls on the dance floor disappeared.
All the slaves on their knees under the tables disappeared.
Joe China knew how to work a room.
These hillbillies were so high on free coke and booze, part of
Joe’s tradition for hospitality, that they developed boners in their bank accounts and pulled out their plastic before the freaks even hit the stage. If they were tweakers before they arrived on the limo tour bus, they were going to be over the top when they left.
In any case, it would be a memorable Christmas.
Adeste Fidelis.
Come all ye faithful.
Come all over your five-thousand-dollar suits.
“Is everybody ready for the auction?” the auctioneer in the zoot
suit and antlers asked the crowd.
Once again, the yahoos responded. “Yeah!”
“Then let the show begin!” the auctioneer shouted.
The audience went wild when the first freak pranced out onstage.
She was a young woman of Salvadorian descent, with three vaginas, two where her pussy was and one at the base of her spine. Chauncey couldn’t imagine how Joe China came up with that one. Joe loved to boast about his Chinese surgeons who could change the human body in ways that Western medicine could never conceive of. And at a great price.
But all the pussies were real, as the auctioneer proved to every- one, by sticking his finger up all three cunts.
The three lesbians jumped on the chance to buy her. They were giddy through the heated bidding until the price of the freak was over a million.
All the pufters in the place went nuts when the matter was settled.
The slave with the three pussies was led to the table of the three lesbians by the auctioneer’s assistant. Credit card numbers were eagerly entered on their iPads to transfer money into Joe China’s account.
But Chauncey’s boner was not about the chick with three puss- ies. He wanted to know where the little blond was. She was nowhere in sight. He wondered what she was going to cost him. He couldn’t let Joe think he was desperate. But he didn’t want her to get away from him either. He didn’t want her getting sold to someone else.
Chauncey sat back while the next slave entertained the audience. She had three tits and six nipples. The tits were the size of basketballs. They tilted her forward when she walked on the stage like she might easily fall on her face. She held up the tits as if anyone would miss them and greeted the audience with sweet girlish smile. The hayseeds were hooting louder than they would at a Huskies game.
Chauncey heard his phone ring.
He answered it a little too quickly.
“Ah, Mr. Gibbons,” he heard China Joe say, “I was just going over your order form. I’m pleased to tell you that we have every- thing you need at the warehouse. When did you say you would need those?”
“Wednesday, Joe,” Chauncey said as if he couldn’t wait to get the matter out of the way. “I’ll need them delivered to the airport.”
“I can easily bus them, of course.”
“My client will be bringing in three planes.”
El Presidente never flew without a couple security craft just off his wings.
“The girls will be washed. Their hair will be done. They will be
dressed in the traditional fashions of their former country.” Chauncey felt a rush from the coke that left his heart pounding through his chest.
“Eh, Joe,” he said and trailed off.
Not a strong statement, you idiot, he told himself.
“Yes, what is it, Mr. Gibbons?” Joe China asked him.
But he could tell Joe had caught the uncertainty in his voice. He had given himself away, but he was prepared to give himself away even more.
“The little blond that was singing onstage when I came in,”
Chauncey began, “what’s your asking price for her.”
“Ah, the little blond,” Joe China said. “She is a precious jewel.” Chauncey realized that Joe must have seen him on one of the security cameras in his office. He must have seen the eye contact they had. The security cameras covered every area of the club, including the opium den. But there was no way of pulling back. He should have waited until Joe offered a price.
“She’s got my boner running wild,” Chauncey offered with a hint of self-effacement, with a hint of deference. Joe still owned the slave.
“She has attracted a lot of interest since her arrival,” Joe responded.
“Is there a secret bid going on?”
“Let’s just say I have three other men inside the club right now who are waiting for my call.”
“I’ll take her,” Chauncey said too quickly.
“I was hoping you would,” Joe China said.
“What’s it going to cost me?”
“Well, first you must understand that she is a very special case.
She is not for sale yet. I find her far more profitable farming her out as a timeshare, so to speak.”
“She’s only part-time?”
“But you can use her all you want during your lease.”
“What’s a week of it going to cost me?”
“That would be a cool million.”
Chauncey thought about a stock of his that had just split.
It would wipe out the week with the slave.
“That sounds fine,” Chauncey said, trying to recover some semblance of cool.
“I might want to add one thing about her, Mr. Gibbons, if you don’t mind.”
“What’s that, Joe?”
“She is dominatrix.”
“Dominatrix? You mean a Dragon Lady in stilettos?”
“Only if you request it, Mr. Chauncey. After all, you will own her for however short a period of time. But some clients see it as a thrilling option. You may call her China Doll, if you like.”
Chauncey’s boner was raging at the thought of meeting her. “Will she be in the short silk skirt with the ruffles?”
“If you like, Mr. Gibbons.”
“And the headdress with the pigtails?”
“It’s a beautiful touch.”
“And no panties, Joe.”
“Easy accessibility is always a plus,” Joe China said with the smoothness of the silver sharkskin suit he wore. “Shall I wrap her up for you?”
“I’d like her sitting in the car when I leave the club.”
“Your favorite valet will have the car ready.”
“I want to make a stop in the opium room before I leave.” “You are always welcome in the opium room, Mr. Gibbons.”
A security guard appeared at Chauncey’s table.
“Are we agreed on the numbers?” Chauncey asked Joe China. “Right on the button,” Joe said.
Chauncey lifted the metal suitcase beside him and set it on his
lap. When he lifted the lid, there were stacks of ten thousand dollar bills, bound with wrappers. He counted a million and handed the bundles to the security guard.
“This should take care of the down payment,” Chauncey said. “I’ll have the balance at the airport.”
“I’ll take your word for it, Mr. Gibbons,” Joe China said. “You’ve never disappointed me.”
Nobody in his right mind would disappoint Joe China. Joe supplied every mob in the city with human traffic.
“Thanks again for the Christmas gift,” Chauncey said. “I’ll have her back to you in a week.”
“Not a day later, Mr. Gibbons,” Joe China said in a voice that was vaguely threatening.
A riot broke out in the club. The customers were rushing the stage over a pair of twin midgets joined at the hip who were into bondage. The security guards couldn’t hold back the crowd.
Chauncey packed the coke and vodka into his empty metal suitcase and headed for the opium room.
