Caution: Gratuitous Templeton Peck torture ahead!

PART 9

Peck was crammed into the back seat of the sedan by the unyielding forms of two sweat-soaked and muscle bound gorillas.

"Do you mind opening a window?" he asked. "It's goddamn stuffy in here!"

One of the heavies fixed him with a stare as cold as metal and then his features broke into an equally unfriendly smile. The other remained hunched, looking out of the window and ignoring everything else that was going on.

Peck returned the smile. "Aren't you guys supposed to read me my rights?" he asked innocently. "I mean I don't want you to get the impression that I get arrested a lot. It's just that I've seen it on TV."

The uncommunicative one let out a bored sigh and shook his head slowly while the chubby smile widened on the face of the other. He lifted his huge hand, fully as big as a dinner plate, and moved it menacingly to rest on Peck's thigh just above his knee. Peck looked down at it and then back into the man's eyes that glittered – the only source of life in the rolls of fat that jutted from his jowls. Peck let out a nervous chuckle. "I don't want you to get anything wrong, cos it might all blow up in your faces later on, you know."

Very slowly the big hand began to close and squeeze. Peck fought down the urge to squirm. He was hemmed in and a rush of claustrophobia hit him as his thigh was painfully compressed. "Awoh," he groaned. "That's really quite painful."

The eyes still bore into his, the smile widening in direct proportion to Peck's discomfort. His vision was beginning to blur as tears pricked at his eyes. He gritted his teeth. "I really don't think…"

"That's enough, Westwood!" A weasel face, framed by dark, shaggy hair had appeared between the gap in the two front seats. Peck regarded him, taking in the cruel deep-set button eyes and the long vivid scar that split the left cheek – it did not appear that this new guy was likely to be a friend, but Peck was pragmatic enough to take relief wherever he found it in situations like this. The guy was asking the goon to stop hurting him, that was good enough for Peck and he rewarded the weasel with one of his best smiles.

The burly gorilla's smile faltered into a look of downright disappointment but he let go of Peck's now throbbing thigh. Peck groaned, searching for further sympathy.

"Shut up!" the weasel spat.

"But I…"

"I said shut up! We're not reading you your rights cos, quite simply, where you're going you haven't got any!"

"But.."

Weasel's less than attractive features had turned distinctly ugly as he snarled, "What part of shut up don't you understand, jerk?"

Peck considering winding him up a little further but he felt the heavies at his side rouse in readiness, so he gently leaned back into his seat, ignoring the resulting pain from his hands still cuffed behind his back and sighed. "Just didn't want to get anybody into trouble later," he muttered.

Weasel's head was between the seats again. "Ain't you real considerate?" he mocked. "But rest easy, only one person here is gonna be in trouble later and it's not me or the boys!" The head turned away and Face heard him say, "Step on it, this guy is real annoying; let's get him to the boss pronto!"

Peck forced his stomach muscles to relax as the heavy fist hit him once again. He let the air rush out of his lungs and then clasped hold of the ensuing pain, catching it, controlling it, wrapping it up and letting it dissipate slowly, ebbing away to a place it no longer hurt him. Then he breathed in, ready, waiting for the next blow, confident that he could deal with it as he had all the others.

The beating had been going on for a good ten minutes. It was painful but no worse than many Peck had suffered in his time on countless occasions. The punishment was being meted out by the two heavies from the car. Peck had found out their names were Westwood and Thomas. Westwood's features were cracked into his omnipresent idiotic grin whereas Thomas retained his distaining distance – as if the whole process was somehow beneath him and utterly boring. Peck realised they were simply following orders – there was nothing personal in what they were doing to him; man had to earn a living some how and these two appeared obviously lacking in the brains department but amply qualified in the brawn stakes! Still it was interesting the orders they were following – punches were well placed and aimed specifically to cause him as much pain as possible but with as little damage, and not to his face. Never to his face; which made Peck even more curious as to who had given out the orders in the first place.

Westwood's fist came again with accompanying smile, straight into the conman's solar plexus. Peck let his breath out. "Guys!" he appealed. "This is silly. I've been beaten up by some real thugs in my time and I don't know but I get the impression you guys aren't like that. You some real reasonable to me so maybe if you just told me what you wanted, I could save you a hell of a lot of energy. I mean I want to help you, really I do but how can I when you don't tell me what it is you want?"

Westwood smiled and with the hint of apology let rip with another blow. This time Thomas, who had been holding Peck up let go of him. Face's legs crumpled and he fell forward on to his knees with a groan. He gagged violently as his forehead rested on the dusty stone floor.

Thomas thrust his hand into Peck's hair and lifted him back to his knees. "You talk too much," he hissed.

Peck nodded. "It's a valid criticism," he agreed. "But I feel it's a much more mature way of settling differences instead of reverting to physical abuse."

"We disagree," Thomas said. "So save your breath. Our orders are quite clear; you're gonna get this, no matter what!"

Peck drew in a deep breath and sighed it out. "No matter what?" he repeated, allowing his features to fall in disappointment. Thomas nodded. "So there's nothing that you want from me? Nothing I can do?"

"You could shut up and give our ears a rest," Thomas suggested. An appreciatory guffaw came from Westwood to match his smile.

Peck smiled too. "Very funny," he beamed. "But I always talk when I'm nervous – something in the genes I guess. If you would stop hitting me maybe I would stop talking!"

Thomas gave him a withering glare. "You're not in a position to bargain," he snorted. Then he spat onto his fist, Westwood lifted Peck back to his feet. "No deal," Westwood continued as he took his turn to punch.

Peck sagged. "Just checking," he managed to breathe before the next punch hit him.

"Get up!"

The command was followed by a painful kick to ribs that were already too bruised for Peck to be able to stop the groan escaping his lips. He opened his eyes wearily. "Jeez, is that the time?" he quipped. "I really need to be making a move – thanks for your hospitality!"

It was the weasel face who bent down into Peck's field of vision. "Get up!" he repeated.

"Well, I did think my wake up call would be a little less insistent," Peck whined.

Weasel's fist hit him square on the jaw, sprawling him back to the spot Peck was endeavouring, with hands firmly cuffed behind his back, to climb out of. "Not the face!" he muttered. "Shit, don't you know the rules, man?"

The weasel let out a growl of annoyance and stepped out of the way while indicating to Westwood and Thomas. "I've had enough of his lip all ready. Gag him!"

"Hi guys!" Peck beamed happily as he was roughly lifted to his feet. Westwood took hold of his head by the hair and banged it against the wall. Peck was still seeing stars as the gag was forced into his mouth. He tried to spit it back but a punch to his already sensitive belly forced the air out of him and, as he gasped, the gag was secured.

"Better," Weasel pronounced. "It stays on until he learns to keep his arrogant mouth shut. You two are too lenient with him." He kicked Face hard to the stomach. Peck groaned and fell back to the floor. He knew he should try to get up but he still felt dazed and slightly nauseous. He hated being gagged- it offended his sense of style and thwarted his charm!

A commotion at the door brought his mind back to the present. Three figures walked into the room. Peck gave only a perfunctory glance at the two who flanked the central one, she quite simply stole the moment as she glided into the room, nonchalantly oozing sex. Peck felt his guts tighten and perform a triple somersault which did nothing to stop his queasiness.

"Hello, Templeton," Lorelei purred. "You really should have answered my calls. I don't like to be ignored!"

Peck snorted, his nostrils flaring and eyes wide as he made an impotent gesture with his shoulders towards his gag.

Lorelei laughed at his consternation. "I don't think so. It's time you listened to me. Bring him." She turned on her high stilettos and swayed out of the room.

Despite his predicament and the gag, Peck's mouth went dry as he found a certain comfort in the seductive swing of her perfect ass as it was so gracefully carried in front of him by those long, slender legs. The two new goons lifted him none too gently and half dragged him along behind. At that point Peck found difficulty in picturing a fairer sight!

Concentrate! Peck forced his eyes away to scan the surroundings for clues he could use later. But the corridor was bare and bland and they entered another room much like the first would certain additions. Face gulped as he looked a little closer – far too many chains and manacles, he concluded. He forced his eyes away from a stand in the corner which housed all number of interesting instruments. Better not to know what was there until he needed to, better to feast his eyes on Lorelei's wondrous form.

"Chair!" the object of his lecherous leer commanded.

Peck was dumped on the other piece of furniture in the room – a lonely looking wooden chair. The two goons got busy trying to tie his momentarily free hands to its arms. For form's sake Peck tantalised them by putting up as much fight as he could but his resistance was short lived.

Eventually he found himself sitting, gagged in the chair eying Lorelei who stood before him, her green eyes blazing excitedly. Peck had the definite impression she was looking forward to whatever was about to happen and that caused his bowels to jerk again. He wished he hadn't pushed Weasel so hard earlier – he could have done with the use of his tongue now.

"So, Templeton," Lorelei began. "Do you have any idea why you are here?"

He shook his head and mumbled through the gag frustratedly.

She laughed and moved towards him, bobbing down so that her chest was very close to his face. He tried to look away, he tried to close his eyes, he really did! But faced with such temptation he looked – how could he not? A sudden hot rush of pressure hit his groin. Maybe she was just teasing, he thought; some kind of bizarre mating ritual? He'd known enough women is his time to be broad minded and experienced enough to try anything but the coldness of her tone stopped those particular hopes from going any further.

"You're too easy, Templeton," she mocked, lowering herself down onto his lap, grinding her hips and running her long finger down his cheek. He gulped as she continued, "How many times have you got yourself into trouble? How many times should you have known better? And how many times have you let the heat in your groin overwhelm the cool thoughts in your head?" She ran her tongue across her lips. "You know the ability to learn from our mistakes is one of the things that makes us intelligent human beings. What does that say about you, Templeton?"

He let out a distressed sigh, feeling himself begin to unravel. Almost without knowing he bent his head downwards into the cleft of her breasts, breathing in the scent of her. She was hot and intoxicating and overwhelming; so attractive, so alluring. Her long fingers lifted his head back up so their eyes met.

"What a stunning package," she mused. "Even now pretty enough to be an angel but so easy to corrupt." She bent forward and kissed him through the gag.

He groaned, every muscle in his body tensing, moving towards her. He knew he should not. He knew that she was teasing him, taunting him with everything she was. He knew he should be strong enough to resist. He knew all of these things and yet… there was something about her long fingers on his neck, about her tongue forcing through his gag, about her hand moving to his groin.

A long time ago this may have been his fantasy but not now, he had other dreams, other priorities. And yet that did not stop him. He was tired and beaten. He was deprived of sleep. He was strung out and frightened. He was tied to a chair and gagged. But none of it gave him the excuse to acquiesce to her touch, not like he was doing. Deep inside a little voice was screaming at him to resist but Peck had spent a lifetime ignoring that voice particularly when his carnal pleasure was at stake. It was so easy to take the leap towards the physical ecstasy she offered.

Her hands moved up to fiddle with the fastening of the gag behind his head and its restriction slipped away. Her tongue was inside his mouth, her hands moving up and down his back and through his hair. He groaned as the pressure inside him increased and from somewhere deep within began to wash outwards and upwards.

Shit! What was she doing to him? He was supposed to be past all this! But it was building, building into a scarlet, vivid crescendo…

…. And then, as quickly as she had come, she was gone. Disconnecting, withdrawing with the blaze of triumph in her eye. Leaving him cold and clinging to the promise now lost as his pants bulged painfully.

Gulping back his desire, his voice was strained and raw. "Lorelei, I…." He began.

Her laugh silenced him. "You weak, stupid fool," she hissed. "You still don't understand do you? I don't want you – I never did!"

"But why?"

"Because you have tainted my life, made me less than I could be. Blighted and stained all that I ever wanted. You conceited vain fool – did you really think a woman like me could be attracted to an old dinosaur like you? You abhor me, the very essence of you makes me sick!"

She moved closer again, bending to lift up the discarded gag. He was staring at her eyes wide, mouth slightly open, dazed by the ferocity of her words. He did not respond even when she shoved the gag back into his mouth, he could find no words adequate for the situation.

"I don't want you," she continued. "And no-one else shall have you. I am going to smash you into little pieces. At the end, even after I have reduced you to nothing, you will still want me, your body will still react to my command, it will betray you as it always does. Like it did just now."

She stood before him swollen with pride at her victory. "Drug!" she demanded, hand outstretched and a hypodermic was carefully placed into it. She stepped towards him. "That little demonstration has proved you're willing, Peck. You are still what you've always been – a little whore! But I want more from you, more fun. You'll be amazed and inspired by the effect of this little cocktail - I prepared it especially for you. Prepare to lose what little control you have!"

He began to struggle then, his instincts kicking in and forcing away the horror that her speech had engendered in him but the ropes held him powerless. Taking hold of his hair she pulled his head back to expose his throat. He gulped violently and gritted his teeth below the gag. With clinical detachment she inserted the needle into his vein.

She knelt beside him then, purring in his ear as he felt his muscles go slack. "Never did tell you my surname, did I? Daddy sure had a sense of humour, all right! I like to think I inherited it, I certainly inherited his debts that's for sure and he owed you, Peck – big time!"

Face jerked as his control seeped away and oblivion rushed in to claim him. With perfect timing and just as his awareness tottered on the brink, Lorelei thrust home her mortal blow. "Stepford! My surname is Stepford or is it Stephens!"

"She's who?" Murdock managed to control his howl enough so that it formed a semblance of words.

"Laura Stepford. Also known as Lorelei to her friends and her enemies – the latter numbering far more than the former!" Amy replied.

"Oh God!" Murdock groaned. "I knew they weren't cops!"

"Faceman in big trouble," BA growled.

They were sitting in Mo's front room. Murdock had roused them all and got them together once he had left the motel. He had ensured that BA had tracked the tracker and it seemed to have come to a stop in an industrial complex on the east side. Murdock had wanted to rush over but everyone else had managed to subdue him long enough to have this council of war – a plan was needed.

They were discussing their options when Amy had arrived, flushed with knowledge and eager to share. Stepford had a son – Joseph, but the kid was a complete waste of space. A playboy he was more concerned with spending his father's money than how it was earned. The person who looked set to inherit the whole of Stepford's sleazy empire was his daughter, Laura. A qualified pharmacist, she was using her knowledge of drugs for far less worthy interventions into the human condition that her tutors at UCLA would have expected or hoped.

"She been stalking him!" BA said in disgust.

Murdock let out a whosh of breath. His voice was soft but tinged with desperation as he intoned, "The loveliest of maidens, she combs her golden hair, she combs it with a comb of gold and sings a song as well. Its strangeness too is old and casts a powerful spell."

"Wha?" BA growled.

"Die Lorelay," said Mo softly, her love for European literature aroused.

Murdock nodded. "It grips the boatman in his boat, with a wild pang of woe, he only looks up to the heights, can't see the rocks below!"

BA stood up and moved menacingly towards Murdock. "What you jibber-jabbering, fool?"

Murdock ignored him. "The waves end by swallowing the boatman and his boat, That's what, by her singing, the Lorelei has done!" He keened at the end.

BA's face was contorted in disgust. "Boatman! What you talking about?" He made to grab at Murdock but Amy stepped between.

"Knock it off, BA!" she snapped. "Murdock's upset."

Mo moved to give the pilot a supportive embrace. "I'm sure it's gonna be all right, Murdock," she soothed. "After all, you know where Templeton is."

Murdock pouted. "Not as easy as that," he groaned. "Only BA and me – it's not enough for a rescue party!"

Mo patted his hand gently. "I think I may have some more good news on that front," she said.

"What?"

"Kyle, my eldest has a few days leave. He's coming home to spend it with his family, should be here by lunchtime."

"That's very nice, Mo," Amy said. "But why will that help?"

"Kyle and his friends are Green Berets!" Mo said proudly.

For the first time since the motel room Murdock allowed himself a smile. "You know," he said, "I like the way your mind works, Mo!"

"Mom!" The relieved atmosphere of the room was shattered by a cry that was a harsh scream of panic. Drake rushed into the room, hair flying, eyes flashing, pants hanging precariously onto his hips.

Leaving Murdock, Mo gathered him up into her arms in the maternal embrace she had been giving without conditions since the day he was born. "What's wrong, honey?"

"Shannon – she's gone. They've got her, mom!"

TBC