Death by Sarcasm

Twenty-eight

Nothing happened for a moment. No one spoke. No one moved.

“Hey, it’s the Village People,” Mary said.

Two things immediately happened at once. Kenum lifted his shirt and pulled a small automatic from his waistline. Simultaneously, the Nixon in the middle lifted his arm to reveal an automatic with a silencer attached.

The Nixon’s gun spat first.

Kenum’s gun fell without firing. Along with its owner, who now sported a red hole just above his right eye.

“Guys,” Mary said. “You’re doing it all wrong. Presidents get assassinated. They don’t do the assassinating.”

Nixon with the Silencer pointed the gun at her while two other Nixons approached her. Yet another Nixon pulled out a sawed off shotgun, jacked a shell into the chamber, and crossed the room, placing the barrel at Mary’s temple.

Mary took the opportunity to study her captors a bit more closely. When they had first come in, she thought they were dressed identically. But now she saw that wasn’t the case. Yes, they all had on blue suits, white shirts, and dark ties. But some of the suits were pinstriped. Some had subtle checks. Some of the ties were dark red. Some were light blue. One didn’t have a tie. The black shoes differed the most. Mary saw wingtips, loafers and walking shoes.

But most of all, Mary noticed the hands. They were all old, some wrinkled, most with liver spots, some with arthritis.

One of the Nixons stepped in front of her, pulled out a knife, and cut the duct tape holding her legs to the chair. They stood her up, then tore the chair from her and sent it sailing across the room.

The other Nixon took a hand to her shirt and ripped it from her body.

“Hey, you’re married – what would Pat say?”

Another Nixon unbuttoned her jeans and pinned her arms, then lifted her so the jeans could be pulled them from her body. Mary tired to kick the Nixon who took off her jeans, but he sidestepped the attempt easily.

“You didn’t learn from Watergate, did you?”

When she was down to her bra and panties, a Nixon took out a pair of handcuffs, freed Mary’s arms, then quickly cuffed her wrists to a pipe that ran the length of the room.

And then Mary saw something that took her breath away.

Some of the Nixons were taking off their clothes.

“I’m not in the mood, guys,” Mary said. “No really does mean no.”

She shivered. The room was cold, but it was the sight of these old, naked men that gave her the heebie jeebies. And whatever they had in mind scared the hell out of her.

“I only date younger men,” Mary said. “Old guys like you are too aggressive. Obviously.”

Mary was now turned sideways and out of the corner of her eye she could see the naked Nixons, masks on, erect penises, well, most of them erect, one or two quite substantial, one or two not so substantial, pointing at her in an accusatory manner.

“Whatever happened to quality foreplay?” Mary said. “Isn’t there a shuffleboard tournament somewhere?” Her heart was thudding in her chest and her mouth was dry. The adrenaline pumped into her blood and she pulled on her restraints.

“Who wants to go first?” one of the Nixons said, his voice muffled and unrecognizable through the mask.

“Why don’t you talk about it?” Mary said. “Have a little penis swordfight over me. I’d be flattered.”

“Someone make her suck your dick so she shuts up,” the lead Nixon said.

“Enough with the sweet talk,” Mary said. “What next, flowers and candy?”

The words ‘suck’ and ‘dick’ had resonated quite forcefully with her and now she tried to slip her wrists through the handcuffs. She pulled until she felt the cuffs dig through her skin and begin to split her skin and crush her bone. Panic welled up inside her. Suddenly she felt a hand slap her ass, then her reach inside her panties. She kicked back and her foot connected with what felt like a solar plexus. Mary reefed back on the handcuffs, but her hands caught. A slight metallic grinding sound caught her ear, though. And she turned away form the naked Nixons and reefed again on the cuffs. The pipe had moved, sending puffs of rust to the floor.

Mary felt a pair of hands grab her panties and rip them from her body.

“Now that’s a beaver!” one of the Nixons said.

“Who ordered the furburger?” another said.

“With a side of thighs,” another said.

Now, Mary wrapped her hands around the pipe itself and studied it. She saw a spot weld two feet in front of her, and a bracket with a screw that had already separated from the wall. She leaned forward and lunged sideways, pulling on the pipe with everything she had.

“Whoa, Nellie!” one of the Nixons said.

The pipe had separated completely from the wall, but had remained intact.

“Come on,” one of the Nixons said. “Hurry up and f*ck her. I’ve got a five-thirty tee time.”

Mary felt the hands on her hips and then one of the most horrific feelings ever: a Richard Nixon cock poked between her legs and rubbed against her. Her mind shrieked with panic and she felt a blind white hot fury explode within her.

She lashed out, but he was between her legs now.

“I might need some K-Y,” one of the Nixons said.

Mary arched her back and rammed backward with her hips, knocking the f*cking Nixon back. She pulled the pipe away from the wall and down, then swung around and planted her right foot on top of the pipe. The pipe groaned.

“Watch it!” one of the Nixons shouted.

Mary hopped on top of the pipe with both feet and it snapped, sounding like a gunshot. A three-foot section came free in her hand.

“Shit!” one of the Nixons said.

Mary twisted and swung the pipe in one smooth rotation. She followed through and saw the pipe connect with the rapist Nixon’s temple. He flopped backwards onto the floor.

It was like a hand grenade had been dropped into the middle of the room.

The Nixons who were still dressed bolted for the door. The naked ones bolted for their clothes.

But Mary didn’t care about them.

The Nixon who’d shot Kenum went for his automatic.

Mary leapt across the room and brought the pipe down on his forearm, just as he came up with the gun. It fired into the floor and then flew across the room.

She wheeled, looking for the Nixon with the shotgun, only to face the barrel two inches from her face. She ducked as the gun roared. The sound was deafening in the room and she heard the shotgun pellets punch a hole in the plaster wall. Mary swung the pipe and clipped the Nixon with the shotgun at the ankles. He staggered, and she swung at the other ankle, then upward.

The Nixon dropped the shotgun and ran for the door, holding up his pants with one hand.

Mary thrust the pipe downward and opened her hands. The pipe slid through the cuffs and clattered to the floor. She dove for the shotgun, clamped the stock between her knees and racked a shell into the chamber.

She rolled just as the killer Nixon went for his automatic. Mary fired from a sitting position and the blast tore a fist-sized hole in the plaster just above the killer Nixon’s head. He ducked, gave up the idea of getting back the automatic, and ran for the door.

Mary flipped the shotgun down, caught it by the pump, jacked the shell, flipped it back up and fired just as the Nixon framed the door.

The pellets shredded his ass and she heard him scream, then tumble down the stairs.

Mary jumped to her feet, racked another shell and ran toward the landing. But she tripped on something and fell. She looked down at her feet. She’d gotten tangled in what was left of her panties.

She kicked them off her foot and made it to the landing, just as the Nixons ran through the door, helping the one with the bloody ass. She fired again, but hit the doorjamb and saw splinters explode.

Mary pumped the shotgun, but it was empty. She ran back into the room, grabbed the automatic with the silencer, heard an engine roar and tires squeal, then ran down the stairs.

She burst through the doors and onto the sidewalk. The street was empty.

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about, babe,” the kid on the bike said.

Mary lowered the gun to her side.

“You’re giving me a boner,” he said.

“Merry Christmas,” she said.

Mary walked back up into the room and found her cell phone. She punched the buttons from memory.

“Cornell,” Jake answered.

“I’m half-naked and wearing handcuffs. Get over here,” Mary said.