The Snare
The foyer was impressive.
There was no doubt, the Big Swinging Dick corporation was making serious money.
I sat in a quiet corner and placed the trades. The $200,000 transfer, punched a significant hole in our off-the-radar bank account, but the financial instruments I had converted it into earlier were effectively untraceable.
It was unlikely we would ever see that money again.
We had to accept that our information security had been sloppy, and this was the price. From that point forward, any new operations would be completely isolated. The days of being able to trace them back to us were over.
It was an expensive lesson.
A $200,000 lesson.
And I resented every cent of it.
I should have left enemy territory immediately, but instead I stayed. The cavernous space was quiet, cool, and unexpectedly calming. There was little chance of crossing paths with our adversaries, and despite being a public area, there were very few people around.
I dialed Allan.
It had been years.
He answered on the third ring, with only his name.
I responded with my own and waited, giving him time in case his memory needed to catch up.
It didn’t.
“Ryan McIntosh,” he repeated, slowly. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time. Things must be rough if you’re calling me.”
“They are,” I assured him.
He snorted, as though the idea was difficult to believe.
He was exactly as I remembered.
“Well, despite your protests at the time that you’d never need my offer, I’m a man of my word. I owe you guys, and I can’t tell you what it means to me that I might finally be able to settle the ledger. What do you need son?”
Direct as ever.
“I need a pair of guys placed on a remote road team. Twenty-seven-year-olds. Fit, healthy, around average height and build.”
“How long? How remote?”
“Deep desert. Minimum a month. Seven-day shifts. The less outside contact, the better.”
There was a pause.
“Wow. Are these guys already owned? Broken in? Have any idea of this?”
“Nah, but they’ll be collared, clipped and bare. They stay that way, not a thread the entire time.”
“They’ll be obstinate and painful, but they won’t be going anywhere”
I paused giving him time.
*
“One last thing Allan.”
“Lay it out.”
“We want them to be Sprayers.”
“Jesus! The whole time?”
“Yep, the whole month, both.”
“Well, I’m glad you did me the honor of being able to genuinely pay you guys back. This isn’t some bullshit powder puff job you want. This is the real McCoy.”
“Thank you Ryan. It means more than you know.”
There was a tone of genuine appreciation in his voice.
“Okay, my turn,” he said. “Two questions.”
“Shoot.”
“How long do I have to organise this, and what’s the status of their arses?”
“Around three weeks.”
“Their arses and throats are out of bounds. Pristine on return”.
“Understood. Difficult, but understood.”
“We’re still working through the final play, but I’ve just sunk $200,000 into the mix, so I expect I’ll have a confirmed delivery date towards the end of next week.
“You’ve got it,” the old timer replied with quiet confidence. “Keep me informed. I mean it when I say thank you.”
“I know you do,”
“Allan.” I paused. “Truth be told, I never thought we’d speak again.”
I looked across the empty foyer.
“But here we are.”
A small silence followed.
“I’m relieved you were on the other end when I called.”
“Whatever this thing is son, we’ll fix it”.
I hung up. I really needed a beer.
Sprung
Their frustration at our insistence on meeting after hours at Phantom was obvious. They were accustomed to being in control, and there was little doubt this would be the last time our aggressors agreed to our terms.
It was the final Thursday before the second sex gathering.
The first event had gone exactly as they had hoped, so they saw no reason for another meeting. As far as they were concerned, all that remained was to repeat the process.
They made their way through the darkened, deserted workshop and into the brightly lit office.
It was just the five of us.
James sat at what was normally my desk. I leaned against the wall, while Gary stood quietly behind him.
James was casually turning three dime-sized electronic bugs over in his hand, the devices our "pest controller" had discovered a few weeks earlier.
The moment Chad walked through the door, he launched into a complaint about the inconvenience of what he considered a pointless meeting.
He stopped mid-sentence.
His eyes settled on the devices in James's hand.
"Oh, big deal," he sneered. "You're upset we bugged you. Get over it."
James smiled. Then took his time.
"No," he replied calmly. "We're not bothered."
He held one of the devices up between his fingers.
"These helped us feed you the information we wanted you to believe."
For the first time since we'd met him, Chad hesitated.
A faint crease appeared across his brow.
He'd realised something was wrong.
He just hadn't worked out what.
Two brass barbs slammed through his shirt into his stomach. The 40,000 taser volts rendered him unconscious.
Brendan’s immediate decision to, ‘get the fuck out’ failed as the same electrical charge interrupted his exit.
*
We instantly leapt forth implementing our plan.
Stripping them naked, we went to work with three power clippers. We had them hairless from the shoulders down, in less than five minutes. Wow, these guys had excellent bodies!
While James and I worked on no.1 buzz cutting their skulls, Gary fixed stainless steel GPS collars around their necks. The click locks snapped shut.
We held the only keys.
With ball gags inserted and secured behind their newly clipped heads, we awkwardly manhandled the dead weight of each, into sturdy tea chest sized wooden creates.
The quick addition of cable ties securing wrists to ankles meant they were in for an uncomfortable but easily survivable trip. The boxes were lined with padding and had more than adequate air holes.
We waited.
*
They began to regain consciousness around twenty minutes later.
By then, everything was ready.
At first, they were dazed, struggling to understand where they were, or what had happened. As awareness returned, so did the inevitable struggle.
It achieved nothing.
We had expected no less.
"Don't worry," I said quietly, looking down at them. "Your new boss will take care of you."
I let the words settle before continuing.
"My advice is simple."
"Do exactly what you're told."
The anger in their eyes slowly gave way to something else.
Recognition.
Then fear.
Gary lowered the lids into place.
James drove the nails home with slow, deliberate blows.
Ten minutes later, the crates were gone.
So were Chad and Brendan.
*
Their journey would take around nine hours by road.
By the time they arrived, they would be more than 800 kilometers from home, deep in the Cooma Desert.
Our contact, Allan, managed labor crews for several less-than-reputable companies that held highway maintenance contracts. The Department of Roads wasn't particularly concerned about who won the difficult-to-fill tenders, provided the work was completed.
For people who needed to disappear for a while, it was the perfect destination.
*
It had been almost three years to the month since we first met Allan.
Back then, we had only five labour units and an ambitious plan to grow the business. We were investigating ways to expand when Allan unexpectedly crossed our path.
It quickly became apparent that he held a relatively senior position within an outlaw motorcycle gang. The road maintenance contracts were part of the gang's attempt to legitimise its more questionable income streams.
One evening, as we sat around the shop discussing the day's work, Allan burst through the door.
He looked terrified.
Barely able to catch his breath, he explained that four gang enforcers were right behind him and intended to inflict some serious damage.
There was no time to think.
After getting just enough information to understand what was about to happen, we bundled him into the concealed safe room behind the office.
Then we went to work.
Barely ten seconds after stripping the club colours from Allan's leather jacket, we heard the side entrance slam open.
James was the closest to Allan's build, so he slipped the jacket on without hesitation.
I shoved the freshly removed club patches down the front of my pants.
Then all hell broke loose.
The enforcers stormed inside expecting to confront one of their own.
Instead, they found the three of us staring back at them in apparent confusion.
The leader, a mountain of a man, fixed James with a hard stare.
"Weren't you down at the riverside gay beat a little while ago?" he demanded.
It was a trap.
James didn't hesitate.
"No," he replied evenly. "I've been at Central Park. Playing with stranger dick."
The answer was just vague enough to sound believable, without giving them anything useful.
While their leader kept our attention, the other three spread through the workshop, searching every corner of the property.
"Why are you here?" the leader demanded.
His finger jabbed towards the concrete floor.
"And why are you driving that white Ford?"
"I'm an owner," James replied. "Why wouldn't I be here? And the Ford's our junker."
He shrugged.
"What's this all about?"
The three searchers returned one by one, each giving a silent shake of the head.
Nothing.
The leader paused.
“You all cock suckers?” he asked bluntly. We all nodded in the affirmative without a hint of embarrassment. True after all.
For the first time since entering the workshop, he looked uncertain.
He gathered his thoughts, clearly weighing whether he believed us, or whether he'd just missed his target by a matter of seconds.
*
“You ever done anyone wearing these colors?” he asked pointing to his shoulder patches.
“Not in this county” replied Gary, saying his first words of the conversation. James and I indicated the same. “Is our liking dick a problem?”
“Nah, you boys can do whatever takes your fancy. We don’t give a fuck, but our club’ isn’t partial to it, and downright savage on any member we find who is.”
“Mistook you for a fairy we’ve been trying to nail for a month. Close as we’ve come and somehow ended up here on account of that jacket you’re wearing.
He paused.
Then an almost out of character emerged. Underneath all his tough man gear, an educated gentleman stepped forth. I was internally shocked.
“Seems we owe you men something of an apology. Please accept it.”
Jake, who’s name we found out later, offered his hand.
James took it and as suddenly as it started, it was over.
*
That night, we smuggled Allan out of the building via an unscheduled Dump-Master rubbish collection. It was rough on him and downright dangerous, but between the four of us we agreed it was the only relatively safe way out.
Just as Allan had predicted, one of the enforcers was watching the front of the building. The three of us were openly followed home, and there was little doubt our cars were searched after we parked.
We knew the Dump-Master driver well. After a discreet phone call, he agreed to make an unplanned collection. He simply emptied our skip into the hopper and drove away without engaging the compactor. To anyone watching, it looked like an ordinary pickup.
At least, we hoped it did.
Four blocks away, Allan climbed out of the load and disappeared into the night. It had been a nerve-racking operation and an expensive one. Keeping the driver quiet had cost us $1,000.
Allan spent the night sewing his club colours back onto his clothes while stripping another old jacket to quietly return to James. The jacket exchange was handled by our fake pizza delivery driver, who completed the transfer for $80, including his silence.
*
Months earlier, when we first met Allan, he had been pleasant but blunt.
Bidding for the road tenders, he told us, would not be a good idea.
We left it there.
With nothing left to argue about, an unexpected friendship developed. It didn’t take long for us to understand more about Allan’s personal life, given how relaxed and open he became around us.
On the night in question, he had borrowed our spare car, he had arranged to meet someone in the city. He was being cautious by nature, and that caution proved invaluable when he realised he was being watched.
The fact that he spotted the enforcers, before they clearly identified him gave him precious seconds.
Those seconds saved him.
His decision to run to us, combined with our immediate response, likely saved his life. He never forgot that.
Unfortunately, the aftermath meant we had to sever contact. The risk had become too great for all of us.
I often wondered whether Allan ever returned to his old habits.
*
When Chad and Brendan arrived at the remote location, they were roughly unloaded and instructed to shower.
The mobile camp they were now part of, had pulled in for the evening. When they returned, still damp from the shower, they noticed that three of the twelve workers, also wore the same heavy stainless collars and were similarly buck naked.
The message was immediate.
They were not special.
Trevor, the camp boss, told them to grab some food and take a seat at one of the folding tables. Their questions were ignored, so they eventually made their way to the brightly lit serving counter and helped themselves to stew and bread.
When they returned, Trevor looked around the group.
“Everyone else, clear off.”
They did without hesitation.
As the two new arrivals ate, Trevor began explaining their situation. They found themselves on a desert road gang, and were expected to be the ‘sprayers’, whatever that was!
The story was so unbelievable that, at first, they assumed it had to be untrue.
It wasn’t.
When the boss finished explaining the rules, Trevor placed two pairs of steel-capped boots, stuffed with socks, on the table.
“Your uniforms,” he said without emotion.
He then pointed towards one of the dusty, battered vans nearby.
“That’s where you sleep.”
With that, he turned away.
“I’m going to bed. Six o’clock. Don’t be late.”
And he left.
The moment Trevor disappeared; Chad looked at Brendan.
“This is bullshit.”
They both agreed.
They were leaving.
They grabbed some water, found some spare clothing on a nearby line, and headed back along the road they had arrived on.
Their plan was simple.
Reach a highway.
Find help.
Get away.
They only made it to the sixty-one-meter mark, before their new reality caught up with them.
The 40,000 micro-volt security measures their collars activated the moment they crossed the invisible security boundary.
The shock was immediate.
Painful.
Overwhelming.
The electricity was excruciating, relentless and utterly debilitating.
Their immediate response had been to drop their water and claw at their necks. At all costs they needed to rid their throats of the nightmare adornments.
It wasn’t going to happen.
The charges simply rerouted down their arms. They squealed like girls.
From his bed, Trevor heard the commotion outside.
He smiled.
Then he rolled over and returned to slumber
*
Neither man had expected to sleep, but at six the following morning, that was exactly how Trevor found them.
He wasn’t surprised to see them sprawled across their beds in ill-fitting overalls. More often than not, that was the standard response when people were confronted with a situation so overwhelming, they couldn’t immediately process it.
The three other workers wearing collars had reacted the same way when they first arrived months earlier.
The new boys looked strong and capable. The sort of men who were accustomed to being listened to. They had clearly pissed off someone.
To be ‘tubed’ as they were about to be, wasn’t so uncommon. To be designated as fulltime sprayers, was rare hard labor. The rest of the team who usually rotated the task, would hardly believe their luck.
Trevor let his four conscripted team members silently enter the van. A pair to each sleeping collar. On a unified signal Chad and Brendan found themselves securely pinned face down on their cots. A man sat across each of their backs and a second straddled their legs. Movement was impossible. They yelled abuse. Trevor entered, paddle in hand.
He stood between the beds and waited for a degree of quiet. When it arrived, he knelt near the bed heads.
“You boys need to understand the rules. When I say 6am I mean it, you don’t wear clothes, you don’t wank off, and you do everything you’re told. You understand he asked?”
“Fuck off!” abused Brendan, struggling with little effect.
Trevor simply looked at him.
He had heard the response before.
“Fuck off!” abused Brendan, struggling with little effect.
The boss positioned himself halfway down the bed and landed ten brutal full strength swats on Brendan’s arse. The victim screamed blue murder from the first to the last. Chad immediately took ten of the same.
“Now you have another two each coming. If you argue it will be five”
The guys pleaded like they had never done before.
“Are you arguing?” Trevor asked.
“No!” the guys cried in unison.
“No What?” admonished the boss as he landed a further blow to each.
“No Sir! No Sir!” the captives begged.
“Good. One to go then. Take it like men, so we can get on with our day. What do you say?”
“Yes Sir” the vanquished managed to squeak out. The outstanding was delivered with as much force as the previous. The team departed, leaving the boss and two sobbing boys.
“When you’re ready, get your boots on, hang those overalls back where you found them and look for me. Don’t be long. We’ve got to get you tubed and show you what you’ll be doing around here.
You won’t be able to sit for much of the day, but there’s not much sitting to be done.
Just so you know you’ve each gotten outstanding from setting your collars off last night. Now, I’m a reasonable man, so I’ll leave those ten for the time but the minute you pull any bullshit you’ll get the ten owed along with whatever else you invite. You understand me?” He paused.
“Yes Sir, Yes Sir”
“Good, see you in five”
*
Three minutes later, they emerged from the van in a state of complete shock.
They moved slowly towards the line where they returned their temporary coverings. Once finished, they looked up to see Trevor gesturing for them to approach.
As they reached the truck marked with a large green cross, the boss introduced Neil.
Neil was the team’s part-time, self-appointed medic. His limited first-aid training would not have been enough for a serious emergency, but he was the only medical support available to the crew.
“Face Neil. Feet wide. Hands behind your back. Don’t move a bloody muscle and keep your mouth shut,” Trevor ordered.
The boys complied nervously.
Neil prepared the equipment he needed, and began the routine inspection process. Chad immediately tensed, but one look from Trevor was enough to stop any protest.
The message was clear.
Resistance achieved nothing here.
He slipped the sheath along the entire length of the cock before him. One by one he worked the guys’ sizable balls through the undersize horizontal slit an inch from the end closest to the body. Chad’s stomach turned on account of the tight squeeze. Thank fuck it was over quickly!
As predicted the now ‘tubed’ shaft was starting to thicken considerably, the medic slid the locking pin in behind the balls and engaged it. He glanced to Trevor and moved to Brendan who had watched the procedure with concerned fascination.
Trevor called Chad aside. He took a thick permanent marker from his breast pocket and scrawled a six inch ‘4’ on the perfect peck. He repeated the numeral behind on the shoulder blade. “Hit the shower,” Trevor instructed. “It won’t wash off. Breakfast in ten.”
Chad walked away without a word.
Several minutes later, Brendan joined him at the open-air showers, carrying his own mark.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Chad broke the silence.
“This is fucking bullshit!”
Brendan stepped beneath the water.
“It’s worse than that.”
He paused.
“I asked Neil whether everyone here went through the same process.”
Chad looked over.
“He said no.”
A silence followed.
“Only when ordered by the owners.”
Chad stared at him.
“Owners?”
The word hung in the air.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Brendan shook his head.
“I think it means exactly what you think it means.”
Chad looked back towards the camp.
The anger returned.
“Those Phantom bastards,” he muttered. “They’re going to pay for this.”
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