An Ass Full of Diamonds

by Petr-Johan

1 Jun 2020 2016 readers Score 7.2 (13 votes) PDF Mobi ePub Txt


“Mister, I gotta take a shit real bad….It hurts a lot, please Mister….you gotta help me.”

Corkie must have had some memories of the last time we'd played an updated version of kick the can as he was actually helpful to the degree that being heavily medicated would allow; This time he didn't even fall down once and was able to get seated, with the sieve in place, before anything poured out. And then we waited. As everyone knows, however much you may feel the urge to evacuate, it doesn't always happen on cue so while I waited for him to give forth I did an evaluation of how he looked. Bruises, like the best of flower gardens, take time to develop and as with gardens there's a period when they're at their peak. That's where we were; To see him, naked, he resembled nothing so much as a full blooming bruise. It was almost more interesting to look for someplace that wasn't a color other than normal flesh than to concentrate on the battered bits, at least that took some or, alternatively, one could compare shades of red, ugly red, maroon, sickly greenish red or the deeper purple that will fade to first green then to Nile green and, eventually, go back to what it was but that time was a long way off. While we waited I unwrapped where his toes had been and, thanks to the Doc, couldn't find anything that would worry me. And so we sat, two naked men, one looking like a sideshow freak, Corkie the Multi-Colored Man and me, a middle aged man sitting on the floor watching a sieve in a shower just without water running.; Not even a portrait in High Art could have explained that one.

Time passed but that was all. Corkie, better living through chemistry, nodded off occasionally which was why I knotted some towels together and tied him to a knob on the wall to prevent him from crashing and burning not to mention, Murphy's law, what he would have crashed into and burned was me; Of course I could have explained that to the Doc but felt I didn't want to. Besides, tying him up gave me something to do which paid the dividend that I could stand up, stretch, do some push ups, rearrange my few toiletries while he waged an internal battle with his descending colon and sphincter muscle. For all this freedom from toilet time, I knew better than to let him get out of sight by doing something stupid such as leaving the room. A tile by tile exploration of the bath revealed that I could turn on a radio and have music if I wanted to listen to “musicians” who sounded more like gingered up cats with a very limited vocabulary. Of course there would be some form of elevator music, an “oldies” setting, Country and Western, New Age and whatever else the hotel thought would divert their guests. This guest, just then, would have been diverted by a friendly bar where everyone didn't know your name and a barkeep who did know every cocktail ever made; I would have just then ordered an old Dutch drink, Strip And Go Naked.

Interesting how just a little thing can be instantly riveting. As with the first time I'd encountered him, again it was a drop of blood but this was coming from the sieve which meant it's point of origin was within Corkie. I got down just in time for the lava flow of shit, blood, watery matter and whatever else was in him to blow out and into the receptacle. He sighed with relief but he wasn't quite done, a brownish looking lump came out but it was obviously not man made, not from the sparkle; Bless his criminal Virginny heart, he'd saved the best for last. Forgetting anyone's normal aversion to playing in fecal material, I ran it under water and found the biggest mutherfucking diamond of them all. The size that would have interested the late Elizabeth Taylor, that would have had Harry Winston calling to ask what was new, the size that Cartier would display respectfully in its own window with glass three inches thick, just in case.

Corkie, who's timing was exquisite under the circumstances, said, “Ya know, dude, I feel a whole lot better.” I smiled, said I was pleased-understatement-and lovingly, gently, carefully wiped and cleaned his ass. I would have carried him back to bed but without a doubt, the pain to him of being lifted made that a poor idea. However, painful as it was, I gave him-and me-a cold shower on the theory that it would help help reduce his swelling. Hardly a bonding experience, it did get us both cleaned up. Carefully dried-I regretted I hadn't ask for some baby powder-I steered him back to bed and fed him the cold scrambled eggs and sickly looking home made milkshake. As a sign of my thanks, I shot him up with both a red and a blue capped syringe then watched him go immediately to sleep, a satisfied smile on his face. I, too, was smiling but for wholly different reasons. How often is a “game changer” shit into your hand?

The blood he dripped had first worried me until he'd laid a diamond egg. In looking at it I realized that he was bleeding because it had worked its way loose and had sliced up his interior with very sharp edges. But he'd also dropped another problem in my hands and that was this was a stone someone somewhere was missing. Badly. The upside was they didn't know I had it, didn't know me for that matter, but they did know where they'd stashed it and based on what I'd seen on the news they would know that no mention of a body, in however many pieces, had been made. Also, they would have counted what they had and realized they were several diamonds short of a full crown not to mention the central stone. What that meant is that many hands had been involved in getting Corkie filled with sparklers so it would have taken those same hands to realize what was actually missing. The jewel in the crown was enough motivation for someone to start searching for him and it wouldn't take too long to find him. In the course of being open, honest (well, to a point) I'd displayed a badly beaten man to many, many people all of whom knew, to the bed, where he was. How he got away from the garage and the explosion wouldn't have mattered too much, finding him was a priority. Somewhere some stupid helpers were in the deepest of shit and being grilled in a very detailed way as to what they'd done and how. Without asking it was clear that Corkie had not in all cases swallowed stones disguised as candy covered goodies; No one could have swallowed that last revelation, it had been hand placed, well, shoved, up his ass and, I was willing to bet, attached not just allowed to wander around in his innards. The next time he was really coherent Corkie and I were going to have an extended talk about things that had happened in his recent past. Issues such as specifically what had been done to him, by whom and....I wanted names, places, events and what he understood was to have happened.

I was trying to reconcile a diamond stuffed body being blown up making the stones very hard to find and, as anyone would realize, having to work around all sorts of authorities who would be running their own search. The latter would doubtless have found one or more of the diamonds as well as realizing that there was a dead body even if it wasn't all together. And all of this would lead back to either a major crime in which the stones had been stolen OR they had been smuggled in-possibly in Corky-but which ever scenario they were “hot” as was Corky about whom the wrong people would now realize that they had two of his toes but others had the rest of him plus his contents.

An unpleasant idea crept into my mind; More than one group of people might be involved. Just for the sake of consideration, lets say group one stole/smuggled the stones. Group two had prior knowledge and ripped off group one which may or may not have included Corky who came preloaded. Question. Who put the stones in him? and was it possible that one group, probably the second, didn't know that, only thinking that he knew where they were but, after a beating, he couldn't or didn't tell them. That would logically lead to their expressing their annoyance by cutting off his toes and leaving him where I found him but I had run interference and just incidentally saved his life but more importantly to whomever knew about the rocks, saved them as well. In short I was a person to be found as, clearly, where I was Corky was. Although, as of right that moment, I didn't exist. That is I didn't exist in terms of those who were, or soon would be, looking for Corky. This might not be the exact picture of what had happened but whatever that was made no difference as we had to start from where we were and what I knew. Mentally I reviewed everyone who'd seen us and knew that while they wouldn't know it, they had information that would be valuable to a certain number of other people. Originally I'd thought we might be able to stick around the hotel for a little while, I now thought we had to get out ASAP, no later than sometime tomorrow if I could get things arranged today. And I made a mental note to get things done today. Time suddenly was galloping past, I was amazed to look out the window expecting it to be dusk when I knew it was just past noon. My need to research got more urgent and so I got onto Justin to see when he would be available and also asked him if


I realized that it was a shame I hadn't served time as a dish washer in a diner as after I'd eaten myself to the point of being stuffed, I wanted the trolley out but need to keep some food for Corkie. Given the recent loss of teeth, he wasn't going to react positively to cold toast and anything that was a step above “soft” so that suggested a pile of eggs with butter, a warm milkshake made with that for my coffee with jelly whirled in and a bit of sugar added. When done it looked a little like bloody mucous but it-probably-had some nutritional value and, my motives being less than pure, might cause him to take another diamond filled shit. Not likely but why not find out?

Which brought me to the diamond problem if having a stash of diamonds, stolen or otherwise, can really be considered a problem. Noting that WiFi was available what I needed was a laptop of some variety on which to do some research. Little doubt that, even tho it was early, some place within fifteen or twenty miles would be open and selling them. The yellow pages weren't going to be of much help for, aside from knowing that I was at the intersection of two interstates, I didn't know where I was so knowing that XYZ Computer sales was already open for business at 123 Main Street in Anytown, Anywhere was pointless. Sure, I could ask but...I didn't feel that I wanted to leave Corkie unattended for any reason and so confined myself to my personal shopper, Jake, to get that done later. Or, now. I'd told him I'd call when he was needed and now was when he was needed. Good call. For those not familiar with truck stops and see them only as a sort of gas 'n go on steroids, they miss just what depth of service these places offer. Obviously I was in a hotel associated with it and, if I had been downstairs, could have found shops selling trinkets, clothes, a form of grocery store...really depending on where one was, what was on offer was amazing so I wasn't really too surprised when Jake, sounding remarkably awake, told me there was a computer/tv/stereo/Ipad etc. shop open 24/7 and just to call down and have a selection of what I thought I wanted brought up. Anything else? Nope and I wished him the rest of a good sleep.

As predicted, there was an electronics store and, asking for the name Jake had given me, had a friendly, if determinedly Southern, voice offering what ever I needed and added, probably part of their store policy to always offer to sell more than was asked for, if I could use a new plasma TV? Blue tooth or a better cell phone? I liked this young man, in one sentence he'd given me some privacy I didn't think I could get; A new cell phone in another name and, though it would somewhat expensive up front, it was something to be desired and, while I was at it, one for Corkie, also in another name. In a world that loves electronic communication, how better to find things out then by calling but not be me? Equally the computer could be in another name. Who gave a fuck about the ISP number as that would relate to this new identity. Good idea but it presented some problems up front. The main one being the salesman who, probably, would know my real name or could find it out just by asking Jake whom he obviously knew and who, I was certain, would get a kick back on the sale. The other side to that problem was that in a place like this where discretion was not only important but sometimes life saving, I decided just to tell him I was really me but wanted these in other names for business purposes. He didn't have to know the business or the purposes and, in a very real sense, it was a variant on the truth. We agreed that in the next hour-he had a morning rush which he always had as truckers left and wanted this or that for their electronic gear-he'd give me a ring and bring some things up. Gave me time to let my too large breakfast digest itself so I loosened my robe, found a comfortable recliner and napped until I heard the phone ring. It was the kid from the electronics place announcing his arrival and apologizing for the delay; There'd been more than the normal traffic this morning. Must have, by my watch, I'd napped for almost two hours.

Justin came in just as I'd finished throwing on some adult clothes as opposed to my robe-although I doubt if he would have cared. As promised, he brought a selection of things, most of which I bought. Two expensive laptops, three cell phones, a satellite phone, a direction finder for everywhere on earth and maybe selected parts of the moon as well as some programs to make everything run. The total came to somewhere over six thousand dollars, covered by my platinum Amex card, and, for cash, told, not asked, him to return when he went off duty and become my impromptu IT person to get everything set up and working as I wanted it. The computers were almost immediately available so apart from giving their batteries some time to accumulate power, I was set to start finding out what I wanted to know but mainly about diamonds. Justin left promising anything I needed, just to call and he'd be downstairs getting some things done so when he came back up, it would be just a matter of making a few entries, getting some names registered and I'd be good to go. Just as he was about to go out I asked if he, or someone downstairs was selling the big Maglites used by the cops. As expected, they were and I told him to get two for me and charge them to my card. Normally I wouldn't let anyone do something like that but in this spider's web of crossing information it wasn't unlikely that everyone had access to any numbers entered anywhere. Clearly my purchase out did truckers needing new cords for head phones or batteries etc. He seemed almost remorseful as he left that he hadn't brought more things but, I could almost see him brighten, there was to be a return visit which suggested another opportunity to sell.

Nothing is as instantaneous as we want it to be. Unlike many old fashioned things that ran on electricity, you can't just plug in a laptop and have it available. Same with the cell phones-not that I could think of anyone I wished to call-they required some little while to get charged up which left me with some time on my hands. For its many comforts, the rooms didn't offer a lot of diversion apart from television and some sort of radio. You can only read the magazine put out by the hotel chain, the room service menu, the alerts as to what to do in an emergency as well as the guide to everything available at that location so many times; I can usually manage twice (there's always something useful you've overlooked) before you're reduced to stall walking. As much as I admired their showering facilities I had done that already so....The view of the parking lot was a study in eighteen wheelers, pot holes, trucks being maneuvered to be fueled, washed, pulled into service bays, started, stopped...in short not much there. It's at moments like these that Corkie proved a diversion; “Mister, I gotta shit”. Having been through this with him before I instantly stripped to avoid having to explain to some sort of cleaning service why a grown man had feces on a polo shirt, socks and a pair of Dockers; I knew what they could think and decided to spare them that line of thought.

Corkie must have had some memories of the last time we'd played an updated version of kick the can as he was actually helpful to the degree that being heavily medicated would allow; This time he didn't even fall down once and was able to get seated, with the sieve in place, before anything poured out. And then we waited. As everyone knows, however much you may feel the urge to evacuate, it doesn't always happen on cue so while I waited for him to give forth I did an evaluation of how he looked. Bruises, like the best of flower gardens, take time to develop and as with gardens there's a period when they're at their peak. That's where we were; To see him, naked, he resembled nothing so much as a full blooming bruise. It was almost more interesting to look for someplace that wasn't a color other than normal flesh than to concentrate on the battered bits, at least that took some or, alternatively, one could compare shades of red, ugly red, maroon, sickly greenish red or the deeper purple that will fade to first green then to Nile green and, eventually, go back to what it was but that time was a long way off. While we waited I unwrapped where his toes had been and, thanks to the Doc, couldn't find anything that would worry me. And so we sat, two naked men, one looking like a sideshow freak, Corkie the Multi-Colored Man and me, a middle aged man sitting on the floor watching a sieve; Not even a portrait in High Art could have explained that one.

Time passed but that was all. Corkie, better living through chemistry, nodded off occasionally which was why I knotted some towels together and tied him to a knob on the wall to prevent him from crashing and burning not to mention, Murphy's law, what he would have crashed into and burned was me; Of course I could have explained that to the Doc but felt I didn't want to. Besides, tying him up gave me something to do which paid the dividend that I could stand up, stretch, do some push ups, rearrange my few toiletries while he waged an internal battle with his descending colon and sphincter muscle. For all this freedom from toilet time, I knew better than to let him get out of sight by doing something stupid such as leaving the room. A tile by tile exploration of the bath revealed that I could turn on a radio and have music if I wanted to listen to “musicians” who sounded more like gingered up cats with a very limited vocabulary. Of course there would be some form of elevator music, an “oldies” setting, Country and Western, New Age and whatever else the hotel thought would divert their guests. This guest, just then, would have been diverted by a friendly bar where everyone didn't know your name and a barkeep who did know every cocktail ever made; I would have just then ordered an old Dutch drink, Strip And Go Naked.

Interesting how just a little thing can be instantly riveting. As with the first time I'd encountered him, again it was a drop of blood but this was coming from the sieve which meant it's point of origin was within Corkie. I got down just in time for the lava flow of shit, blood, watery matter and whatever else was in him to blow out and into the receptacle. He sighed with relief but he wasn't quite done, a brownish looking lump came out but it was obviously not man made, not from the sparkle; Bless his criminal Virginny heart, he'd saved the best for last. Forgetting anyone's normal aversion to playing in fecal material, I ran it under water and found the biggest mutherfucking diamond of them all. The size that would have interested the late Elizabeth Taylor, that would have had Harry Winston calling to ask what was new, the size that Cartier would display respectfully in its own window with glass three inches thick, just in case.

Corkie, who's timing was exquisite under the circumstances, said, “Ya know, dude, I feel a whole lot better.” I smiled, said I was pleased-understatement-and lovingly, gently, carefully wiped and cleaned his ass. I would have carried him back to bed but without a doubt, the pain to him of being lifted made that a poor idea. However, painful as it was, I gave him-and me-a cold shower on the theory that it would help help reduce his swelling. Hardly a bonding experience, it did get us both cleaned up. Carefully dried-I regretted I hadn't ask for some baby powder-I steered him back to bed and fed him the cold scrambled eggs and sickly looking home made milkshake. As a sign of my thanks, I shot him with both a red and a blue capped syringe and watched him go immediately to sleep, a satisfied smile on his face. I, too, was smiling but for wholly different reasons. How often is a “game changer” shit into your hand?

The blood he dripped had first worried me until he'd laid a diamond egg. In looking at it I realized that he was bleeding because it had worked its way loose and had sliced up his interior with very sharp edges. But he'd also dropped another problem in my hands and that was this was a stone someone somewhere was missing. Badly. The upside was they didn't know I had it, didn't know me for that matter, but they did know where they'd stashed it and based on what I'd seen on the news they would know that no mention of a body, in however many pieces, had been made. Also, they would have counted what they had and realized they were several diamonds short of a full crown not to mention the central stone. What that meant is that many hands had been involved in getting Corkie filled with sparklers so it would have taken those same hands to realize what was actually missing. The jewel in the crown was enough motivation for someone to start searching for him and it wouldn't take too long to find him. In the course of being open, honest (well, to a point) I'd displayed a badly beaten man to many, many people all of whom knew, to the bed, where he was. How he got away from the garage and the explosion wouldn't have mattered too much, finding him was a priority. Somewhere some stupid helpers were in the deepest of shit and being grilled in a very detailed way as to what they'd done and how. Without asking it was clear that Corkie had not in all cases swallowed stones disguised as candy covered goodies; No one could have swallowed that last revelation, it had been hand placed, well, shoved, up his ass and, I was willing to bet, attached not just allowed to wander around in his innards. The next time he was really coherent Corkie and I were going to have an extended talk about things that had happened in his recent past. Issues such as specifically what had been done to him, by whom and....I wanted names, places, events and what he understood was to have happened.

I was trying to reconcile a diamond stuffed body being blown up making the stones very hard to find and, as anyone would realize, having to work around all sorts of authorities who would be running their own search. The latter would doubtless have found one or more of the diamonds as well as realizing that there was a dead body even if it wasn't all together. And all of this would lead back to either a major crime in which the stones had been stolen OR they had been smuggled in-possibly in Corky-but which ever scenario they were “hot” as was Corky about whom the wrong people would now realize that they had four of his toes but others had the rest of him plus his contents. An unpleasant idea crept into my mind; More than one group of people might be involved. Just for the sake of consideration, lets say group one stole/smuggled the stones. Group two had prior knowledge and ripped off group one which may or may not have included Corky who came preloaded. Question. Who put the stones in him? and was it possible that one group, probably the second, didn't know that, only thinking that he knew where they were but, after a beating, he couldn't or didn't tell them. That would logically lead to their expressing their annoyance by cutting off his toes and leaving him where I found him but I had run interference and just incidentally saved his life but more importantly to whomever knew about the rocks, saved them as well. In short I was a person to be found as, clearly, where I was Corky was. Although, as of right that moment, I didn't exist. That is I didn't exist in terms of those who were, or soon would be, looking for Corky. This might not be the exact picture of what had happened but whatever that was made no difference as we had to start from where we were and what I knew. Mentally I reviewed everyone who'd seen us and knew that while they wouldn't know it, they had information that would be valuable to a certain number of other people. Originally I'd thought we might be able to stick around the hotel for a little while, I now thought we had to get out ASAP, no later than sometime tomorrow if I could get things arranged today. And I made a mental note to get things done today. Time suddenly was galloping past, I was amazed to look out the window expecting it to be dusk when I knew it was just past noon. My need to research got more urgent and so I got onto Justin to see when he would be available and also asked him if there was some sort of luggage down stairs. That lay beyond his specific knowledge but he felt sure there was. Also, on my “to buy” list was some form of transportation as his pickup would now have to be regarded as “hot” but not in the sense of stolen. The yellow pages revealed a used car lot a few miles away from whom I fully intended to buy something, anything that didn't have Virginia tags, wasn't a pick up and had some zip for those moments when one might feel pursued.

Cars weren't my “thing” so discussions about them, their internal combustion, how to make them go faster were largely discussions I'd heard but not paid attention to. Clearly something like a Maserati or a Lamborghini would go very fast but also be only slightly less obvious than trying to ride a cow on the freeway. Another call to Justin. Effectively, I learned, as long as the laptop was plugged in and I wasn't relying on the battery, I was good to go. Entering “Fast Sedans American Large” in Google took me to a site that listed several quick vehicles, some of which I'd owned and, evidently, never appreciated. Foremost was a Cadillac just like the one that had been blown up back at the garage. Even better, there was no learning curve for me, I knew exactly how to drive it, where to put gas, oil, window cleaning fluid, the basics of automobile maintenance as far as I was concerned. Another search told me where, quite near to me, I could buy one, new or used. I decided on used just because I thought it would blend in better although I did wonder if whoever was looking for Corky-and therefore looking for me-might remember that there'd been a dead Cadillac that was somehow associated but decided that was over thinking the issue. The other thing that I considered was the pickup although based on what I'd decided I knew, I regarded it as hot and the Virginia license plates just acted as a beacon to anyone looking for it. At some point it would be discovered/assumed by those who knew the larger story that his truck was missing and that the bits and pieces of auto that were being found were from another car owned by someone else. Ergo, the truck and maybe Corky, were out and about; He'd somehow escaped the blast took the truck and was headed for....? Someplace. Here at the truck stop was the best place it could have been, too many license tags from all over and not just eighteen wheelers but everything else that peeled off the Interstate and came here. I'd had the sense to park backwards and as Virginia was not a state that required tags front and back, anyone observed playing creepy peepy behind a line of trucks would be noticed and, depending on who noticed them, would have the beat the shit out of them if they couldn't come up with ID and a more than plausible story. Even ID from the White House probably would have been suspect and claiming diplomatic immunity was beyond the pale. What I knew I'd have to do was grab some Mr. Clean and wipe down every surface that might have finger prints or, though this was futile, DNA samples. Ultimately the truck would have to be abandoned but whether destroyed or just left out in a field.....I'd figure that one out later.

It was destined to be a long/short day with almost enough time to get most of what I thought I needed done. The first and most important was to get a new car or truck, I hadn't made up my mind, and then begin the task of disposing of Corky's ride or...maybe...just take the tags and leave it where it was. I'd noticed a sign for long term parking by a large shed, probably an abandoned Army or Air Force depot, which, inside I could guess, were the rides of guys who were long distance truckers and this was their trade off point. Made perfect sense. A car put in there effectively went into a sort of limbo and, good news, it was unlikely anyone could just stroll onto the lots-truckers are, correctly, suspicious of people just “wandering around and just looking”. History had shown them that what they were wandering around looking for was a vehicle, didn’t matter what kind, locked...or maybe unlocked. It wasn't a common occurrence but, especially in winter, drivers often left their diesel engines running with the cab locked. A distracted driver might forget to lock the door and would return to find his trailer where he'd left it but the tractor part would be gone. Professional hijackers had a ready trailer to attach and one could do an amazingly quick paint job using spray cans and the sort of striping that's available in almost any auto detail shop. Two days later that truck would be in Mexico, sold to a purchaser who knew better than to take it back across the border but wanted a new tractor for his rig. The profit was amazing and for very little investment. But put in long term parking, Corky's pick up became instantly anonymous and would stay as such for...who knew how long? No different from dozens of other Ford pickups, nothing distinguishing, even if you might be looking for it, without the Virginia tags, locked, even the VIN number defaced, hard to know if this was the one.

All well and good to dispose of one thing but it would need replacing as I was certain even if there was a local taxi service they'd be unwilling to hit the road on a full time basis going nowhere other than a long way from home. Now, however, I was not alone in getting what I wanted. Through greed or curiosity or both I had four gofers who could assist me in car purchasing more easily than the yellow pages; It was just a matter of asking one-or more-and within hours I felt certain I'd have a car, brand new or not. It was about time for Jake to be arriving for his shift at the front desk but...I could see some merit in not having all hands knowing what the head hand was doing. Also, Jake was just old enough to have graduated out of the juvenile fixation with cars which left a pair and a spare from which to choose; I thought it over and went with the twins, Billy and Bobby. Not needing anything save some conversation I called room service and asked that Bobby bring up a pot of coffee and, if possible, ice cream in something like dry ice to keep it frozen; I'd made a decision about Corky's diet and ice cream seemed as good a form of both fluids and some marginal nutrients as well. However banged up as he was, he was a sturdy man who wouldn't suffer from a few days without a meal of steak and potatoes; Given the state of his jaw and the missing teeth, ice cream was probably what he'd want if he were coherent enough to think of things he might want. Bobby got on the phone and said it would take a couple of minutes to arrange the dry ice and what flavors did I want? Vanilla, Chocolate, standard issue seemed likely choices...oh, and on his way up, could he hit the drug store/gift shop and pick up a bottle of vitamins and minerals? So much for keeping Corky's electrolytes balanced.

Circumstances have the capacity to change us rather more quickly than we might have expected; When I'd left home I was an honest fetishist salesman plying my trade in an expensive business suit and doing power lunches with other purchasing fetishists also dressed in expensive business suits. Now I was comfortable not bothering about underwear, just pulling on some shorts and a T shirt and padding around bare foot against the necessity to make a dash for the can if Corky felt he needed to unload, although I thought that the outflow of the jewelry store was behind us. The stones themselves were the least of my concerns; They were inside a Kleenex box, the sort that's built into the wall in the bathroom. One could still remove tissues one at a time but the stones, smothered in soft paper, didn't even make a noise and, under the circumstances, were as well hidden as was possible. Even if someone was able to grab Corky and then attempt to flush him out, they were in for an unpleasant surprize; He'd been thoroughly and previously flushed and what they might get was used ice cream, piss...nothing salable. In my own mind I wasn't sure if Corky knew what had been stuffed down his throat and up his ass. A drug mule does but this went way beyond that, Corky could have been walked through departure customs, taken to a foreign country and “evacuated”. What had come out of him was easily worth the effort that would take and as millennia of traders have understood, diamonds may fluctuate a bit in value but they're always worth something and in the case of the Jewel In The Crown-not India-but the largest stone that came from his interior-quite a lot of something. Quickly checking my room mate to see if he was still living, I fired up a lap top and began some cursory searches on red hot topics.

I found list of major diamond heists and, in specific, if there had been major stones stolen. This sort of theft isn't widely reported unless it's a “daring daylight robbery” of some jewelry store simply because any theft suggested to other potential thieves that there are gaps in the various security systems that might be valuable information under a certain set of circumstance. It was also a sure bet that this was either part of an inside job-no pun intended-or whoever originally took the stones was well informed about the diamond industry. Going at it from several different angles there was no mention of a diamond theft and, certainly, nothing about a stone the size of which had only recently been part of Corky's alimentary canal. Again, I wanted to know just how much Corky really knew versus what someone had told him and, I'd little doubt, he was dumb enough to believe. But putting his stupidity aside, some threads were beginning to knit themselves together. Not knowing who lifted the stones was, just then, not as interesting as how they got in Corky. Easily half of them could have been swallowed, particularly if covered with something to make them slide down more easily. And, since that was probably the case, it would make perfect sense to have them coated in something that would take the digestive juices a while to remove and allowing the stone to move on down more easily. All that was left to do was stick with him, threatening all manner of mayhem if he took a shit unmonitored.

That was the first half, the second half became more problematic leading up to his final production and that must have been manually inserted but...apart from the obvious...where in his very own cloaca maxima was it lodged and how was it kept there? I had a grim picture of the kid tied down to a flat surface of some variety while someone who had never had any courses in practical surgery slashed an opening to get to his guts. It goes without saying that no anesthetic would have been used; After they'd finished with him, and not finding the treasure as promised, there would be a certain internal blood bath between those who felt short changed at not finding what they'd expected; The only positive thing was that Corky would have passed out due to shock and, shortly there after, would have died from everything to blood loss-the primary one-to the shock to his system. Well, that may not be ‘positive’ seen from his point of view. Even under those unhappy circumstances he still became key player-albeit a dead one-in that the search for what they didn't find would continue and not at a leisurely pace. Tracking backwards from wherever he expired to wherever he'd been filled with diamonds was the path that would be followed-an alternative form of ‘follow the money’-and, assuming I hadn't been killed in the process of snatching him, I was involved. Also, I had the stones a fact known only to me and, possibly, Corky; Once again there was the problem of what did he know had been stowed in him for safe keeping?

There was one consideration that did not fall without the realm of possibility; Corky did not know what had been placed in him, as with many mules, he could have believed it was drugs….which didn’t account for the largest stone which, no other way, had to have been manually inserted. Could it have been swallowed? Yes but...that was too haphazard, one dose of Milk of Magnesia and it would have been squirted out-plus the pain he experienced, forget the edges, was more than suggestive it had been put in to stay in until it was, again manually, removed.

While I waited another set of facts assembled themselves and while they did struck me as immediately correct, they were the most worrisome yet. In a sense, Corky, when I got him, was already damaged goods but not by the people who'd left him attached to the garage door; They had to have been a group who'd kidnapped him from his original compatriots probably not knowing what lay within. Had they known, no way would he have been considered “disposable” at least not until he'd been emptied and then, as I'd thought about earlier, probably left to die if not murdered-why not be really, really sure. A rush of sympathy for the kid came over me so I checked on him, gave him a red tipped syringe and watched his face rearrange itself in the happy expression of a drug addict just sensing the flow of his favorite drug entering his system. I heard a door open in the other room.

Bobby-or maybe it was Billy, I forgot which one I'd spoken to-arrived with the pot of coffee, four mugs, no particular reason, another bag of booze miniatures and his look of boyish expectation. “What's up?”

“Cars, I need one, preferably today, preferably a Cadillac and absolutely one that goes zoom.”

Kids that age in this part of the world go through a period of being overly car conscious so my framing what I said in the way I did was designed to make his boy balls jingle and his cock get hard at the thought of getting his hands on one, even if briefly.

“Wow, I know just the one and the guy who's selling it. Shit, sorry, I mean there's one that was part of an estate that this guy I know...”

Years of dealing with men had made me aware of certain things; One of them was that young men, about his age, had some sort of hard wiring to cars and without even thinking could tell you the compression, where to get good valve lifters and the best pin striper around. Just incidentally they know where cars are and how to quickly lay their hands on one. I could find no reason not to sweeten the pot and so I did.

“Fine, find, it buy it-I'll get the money for you-and you'll get the standard commission. Also, get it well tuned...”

“Got just the guy, have to know to get him to work on your ride but he's fuckin'.,..”

“It's okay, I say all those words myself...”

“...great and doesn't say much or charge much. Do you wanted it painted? I think the one I remember is silver?”

“Cadillac Silver? perfect. Get your ass in gear, fucking get that car....”

“Dude, you got it. I'll make some calls and when I get off...”

“Call me when you've got the numbers.”

Nice to see the young with a sense of purpose, he left the room forgetting he was still holding the pot of coffee. He popped back in.

“Sorry”, put the pot on the table and disappeared. Any others wanting room service from that moment on were doomed to either slow service or no service as he “made some calls and got some numbers.”

I moved transportation to the “solved” column and went back to thinking about what I needed to do next. “Need” being underlined and italicized.

Having a car was simple, where it went was an issue to be deeply considered and not just for the next several days, but for the next several weeks, months maybe even my lifetime. In one sense I had two salable entities for which I knew there would be buyers, even anxious buyers. If I could find out who had previously had Corky I had little doubt that I'd not only find he had a price on his head but that I could set it. Of course, that would seem to exclude the second set of his captors but in some ways they had far more to lose in that kidnapping and attempted murder was way ahead of stealing diamonds in terms of legal consideration. For that, the first group, the ones who'd used him as a mobile safety deposit box, would also want him back for the very obvious reason of getting back their merchandise. From my years on the verge of the criminal world I knew how to prioritize with whom to deal. Compared to those who would string a man up and plant a bomb under him, the robbers were almost benign, gentlemen, if you will, in the acquisition and distribution business. Not only did I have Corky, stuffed or not, but I had the stuffing which I knew they'd like to have back. Also, they would want to know who filched him, information they would find interesting and useful. It was more than 50/50 that the group that stole the diamonds were effectively contractors working for a darker, deeper group but not the one who spirited away young McCorkle and converted him into a wall, well, door, ornament. If I had to deal with any of them, the ones doing the stealing were my best bet as they could not only afford to pay me but then resell the stones at a handsome profit. My only condition being that while we all had a Q & A session with Corky, even several sessions, they would need to understand that neither he nor I were to be damaged and when we all knew what we wanted to know, he and I departed and, a day later, just as the plane bearing us to some place far, far away landed, they'd get their diamonds. On paper it was a helluva plan; In reality it was so fucking full of holes...but it was a plan, wrong headed, undoable, poorly conceived but good ideas can start from bad ideas and which no ideas you might as well grease the pointed end of the meat skewer and sit on it.

Short term there were other problems that were more easily solved but remained troublesome just the same. For one, the object of lots of attention, although out cold in the next room, was going to have to be moved and put some place less public. I was not unmindful that back at explosion central the cops, ATF, the FBI and whoever else was now involved probably had my name and were looking for me. Whatever else I was, to them I was the closest thing to an eye witness-even though that was a guess-they had and, even if that wasn't the case, I had been at the scene of the crime before it became a crime scene and if my car had been dropped there days before, I suddenly had “person of interest” status. It was possible to think I was ahead of where they were but that was a flawed piece of assumption; Even if they hadn't pulled my name from a hat, they would and then, quietly, they'd start trying to find me. To their relieve, at least temporarily, I wasn't going to prove to me a mysterious person. They could easily find where I lived, my offices (though not the precise nature of my business), any number of people who could say, “Sure, he left...let me think...five, six days ago. Just taking some time off. He may have said he was driving to the coast or, no, that's wrong, that park in Wyoming...I think.” Friends are more useful when you haven't lied to them but just discussed possibilities all of which they'd whip up with an egg beater and hand back as fact. Or that's what they thought. My office staff, both of them, had two weeks paid vacation-perfectly normal in the middle of summer and in a small business that had no walk in trade-and could be found and questioned as necessary. But here they were going to butt heads with some protocols all of which dealt with how far to push an investigation without alerting too many people as well as alarming people by unintelligent People will run that jam into far worse things, such as I was lying dead in a morgue someplace, and begin to jump the investigators for more information suggesting that someone close to them was in a jam. Also, they'll spread the word that there is an investigation which wasn't something law enforcement wanted spread. At base, all they had was that my car had been blown up in a mechanic's garage. No part of me had been found and, beyond that, it was obvious that I, or someone, had cleaned it out so it wasn't likely it was just abandoned there but left intentionally. Then I was back to the earlier set of facts all of which would be found at some point. The call to AAA for beginners. Maybe it was recorded, maybe it wasn't but it existed and specifically said there was car trouble, I was looking for a place to fix it and I was not sure where I was. Following that I'd called back to say I'd found a mechanic and not to worry. That I hadn't found a mechanic and was the one who should have been worrying was unknown to me just then but....AAA could and would tell whoever asked that I'd been calm, didn't seem under stress or duress and that since that exchange, they'd heard nothing more. The assumption being that I'd solved the problem and was back on the road. Those investigating would know better but all they'd ask was the AAA give them a ring if I checked back for any purpose. Which is what they'd tell my office staff, nothing serious, they just though I might have some information, as with AAA, give them a ring if I called. Mine was the back story when one thought about it; Why the garage had intentionally been blown up was far more important and even finding me might or might not provide anything: l knew precisely what I'd say. “Sure, I was there, the car gave up, couldn't find a mechanic but caught a ride to the truck stop from which I was buying a new car on the theory the old one was DOA. They could believe it or not but the facts were stacked on my side even if there were a few sketchy points. Again, they were looking for what might be terrorists not some jerky business man who had his car accidentally blown up in an incident that had nothing to do with him. As before, it wasn't a great plan but it covered my ass with anyone legal until they could think of a reason to speak with me again and, by that time, I'd be gone. So what if it had been suggested that I “stick around”. Assuming I was the innocent business man I was portraying and evidence supported that, I'm not going to stick around to find out what's up their ass and I'm going to go on about my business.

Another problem was Corky. Though I had no idea as to whom they might be, that some persons or groups were looking for him was a given. Just which set was looking more fervently….my money was on the stone stashers…..but it was the locals who’d whittled on him, attached him to an automatic garage door and left him to be blow to smithereens. Again, I came back to thinking that these two incidents were not related; Whoever left him for execution at the service station would never have done so if they’d known what lay within. In his drugged out state, he wasn’t going to be great at twenty questions, or even two or three questions, but….coming up very soon he was going to have to answer some questions as accurately as possible.

by Petr-Johan

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