A Piercing Aquaintance

The short bus got underway to Tampa without slave Paul, and he was glad of it; even though Hameed had interrupted the woman’s tirade with a rebuke to her, and gave assurances to the terrified young faces that no one should have any worries. ‘Pretty people will be kept very happy’ — which wasn’t  too reassuring to the older girl who wasn’t at all pretty. 

Slave Paul was taken by Hameed to his Buick and put in the trunk. Better than being tied up in the presence of that Muslim woman with the head wrap, he figured. From there Hameed drove to his cousin’s, at the motel on the freeway. That’s where slave Paul had stopped on the run from Master Charles. Hameed exchanged the Buick for his wife’s 2009 Yaris there, where the dead woman thrown from an airplane hours earlier, did desk check in work.

Hameed’s wife, number two, drove the short bus on state highways, avoiding the freeway till it was out of Georgia. Such buses were not uncommon even on Saturday mornings before dawn. Any ‘all points bulletin' that might be issued or even some AMBER alert couldn’t identify the bus exactly, and Charles had only seen what appeared to be a camouflaged van when Hameed tore past him. Hameed later removed the camouflage stick sheets, hunter’s used to make their camp vehicles less visible to game, it appeared once again as a state owned yellow/orange public conveyance for challenged children — and, the slave passengers looked the part, when they exited for Florida. 

But it did get stopped not just once but three times.  

Besides there being no news that the ‘drug bust gone wrong’ had anything to do with Muslims, or the children being drugged, the authorities had no idea who any of the abductees might be, nor any descriptions of weight, size, features nor the mix of race or gender; since  the planned bust of the ware house intended by Shelly hadn’t even been yet been arranged with local law enforcement; and since being managed by only a few people in the GBI, who also maintained secrecy from federal authorities, all they knew was; just that upon the word of a openly homosexual snitch, ‘under cover’ ex-military, biker, whose dope using party had been busted; to be on the look out, for Muslims who might have a dozen captive children. 

The claim there were children held by some Muslim guy who sold opium — to most offices of law enforcement; state patrol or sheriff’s offices, around the state seemed ridiculous if not racist and Islamophobic if not self serving.

In addition; as with the threats of circumcision, Rashida had established herself as a terrifying overseer and slave holder to these young charges; and, she made them believers that any attempt whatsoever to notify authorities of their imprisonment, should the the bus be stopped would result in immediate horrors.

Ahmed and her, in an afternoon, with the help of some of the captives, who could attest to the good functioning of a simple plumbing system, had rigged the bus with a PVC plumbing over each seat that would rain down acid upon any child who might speak up — and, they had sacrificed one child already in front of the others, [which we will not elaborate upon, owing to how awful it was.] She also had a lawful drivers license for driving a bus or commercial vehicle in the state, plus papers she was a child care specialist. 

She was cited three times before she reached the FLA line for speeding and once for driving through a stop sign; and, the children were perfectly behaved, though if one looked closely some tears could be seen — as she made hostile glances back to them she chatting with the officer.

It was an ongoing profitable business, even if unlawful to the kaffir, and these practices assured a smooth operation; and profits where divided to charitable distribution to help crippled Muslim children from kaffir bombings, and kaffir warfare upon them — No devoted Muslim who worked  with  them ever felt guilty; as, the word they used ‘Mubaa' (permissible or fair game)’ was generally understood, and under sharia they were exonerated of any guilt or sin. She didn’t even turn off the blaring  music of repetitive Islamic Koranic chanting when stopped. 

At the Waffle House Charles connected with Alpha on the cell who was awaiting ambulances for the injured slaves, and he informed Him of Pud’s heroism. He informed Master Charles he didn’t see slave Paul amongst the other dead boys, and hadn’t asked Pud; but, he could have been flung from the airplane, as a few others had been. But with an air of hope, he told Master Charles of the sounds, grunts, and voices from a receiver he’d found next  to an ATV he figured was from one of the terrorists, having been involved in parking; that sounded like sex. They still hadn’t thought a collar, let alone slave Paul’s, might have a microphone though.

It was through Master Charles next stop that progress was made. He drove his Harley into the motel where it all began. 

It wasn’t surprising it was Muslim run. A Muslim woman was on duty, but it was only then he figured it a good possibility it was also connected.  He decided to get a room and some sleep — he hadn’t, in fact, connected at that point, that the motel was owned and run by Muslims involved, but in the morning he was going to find out. He did recall it was where the deal had been made, but he figured Hameed had just wanted to keep his station and the Tang secret; but now this was a rock he had to turn over.

Master Charles went  into a deep sleep and dreamed.

He found himself bodily floating above the water on lake Oconee and he floats down to the wreckage of the sea plane and sees Pud alone.

''How is it your survived Pud?''

 Pud averts his eyes and doesn’t look at Master Charles but hands him two two keys of the old fashioned variety, and Master Charles puts  them in his pocket. 

He rises up and traverses the water and sees two figures upon the shore. One appears to be Jesus, as he’s carrying a huge cross upon his back, but unlike the usual depictions  the man is no whims or even gentle looking but a brute of figure. 

The other very pale man appears to be Mohammed as a retinue of women lounge in this tent, not far away; and, both these figures stand facing each other along the sandy shore. They stand and appear to just stare at each other when finally the man dressed as a Muslim, suddenly kneels and plants his face in the sand. 

Master Charles finds this interesting and begins walking toward them wanting to ask a few questions, and then notices he is still standing upon the water; so, he flies upwards, and then over these two enigmatic figures only to be distracted by the noise of yelling and discord from where bright flood lamps are illuminating a field. 

He flies towards that noise and light, where he sees within a large lighted area, people standing in a circle, appearing as circling a small baseball diamond, surrounded behind them by various models of cars, of all sorts of models and years; and he sees, in turn, encircled by this mob, in the center, a woman. 

As he draws closer, he sees the same enigmatic girl again he’d seen in the fuck bench factory, that had given slave Paul a make-up job. 

‘’Where is my slave?’’ he asks her.

''Do you have no priorities?'' she responds looking back upon the mob.

He quickly flies the distance and lands next to her, and he realizes, all these people are fixing to pitch base balls at her. 

She obviously, for what ever reason, has been selected to be balled to death. He doesn’t ask why, or if it’s necessary, he simply feels compelled  to say to those threatening this girl; 

‘’He who is without sin throw the first base ball!’’ 

He wasn’t completely without some recollection he’d heard some similar words before, but the words just seemed the only thing to say in his humble opinion.

‘’Blasphemer!’’ yelled a challenging voice. 

Some guy to the left hurled what appeared to be a big dildo, and it tumbled end over end toward the girl, but he readily caught it and he realized it was slave's modified head banger. Then he saw Lee holding the collar above the girl like a halo, and it glowed.

The man who'd yelled appeared to be Ahmed, the man he had pitched acid upon. 

‘’You just cannot restrain yourself from the spot light can you, Ahmed? You are the arrogant shit!’’

Bed bugs! And, Master Charles ripped off the covers, turned on lights, and saw the nasty creatures scurrying off the bed; but not before he crushed a few of them making spots of blood upon the sheets. Master Charles recalled little of the dream, but figured slave Paul’s collar had something to do with it. It was 5 AM