RickyRicardo
TB Regular
- Credits
- 0
The two men barely spoke during the ride back to the shopping center, Buddy spending the time altering his spending plans to accommodate the additional windfall. He even toyed with the idea of using it as a down payment on a rig of his own so he could haul exclusively for Isaac and no longer be bothered with that crappy company he worked for.
“Good luck, Buddy, and thanks again for everything. I’ll be in touch, perhaps sooner than you think,” Isaac said as he pulled next to the semi, not offering to shake hands, still wearing the latex gloves. Buddy offered a salute as the silver Ford sped out to the highway.
As he climbed into the rig he paused, wondering if he had remembered to lock the doors. Maybe Matt had went out to pee and had forgotten to lock the door behind himself. The matter was quickly dismissed as he withdrew the money from the envelope while sitting behind the wheel, anxious to count it again, to fondle it lovingly, fanning it out before him like a massive hand of playing cards, each bill an ace of diamonds.
A blur of movement from the periphery of his vision was all the warning he had before a firm pressure enveloped his entire head. There was no pain, but rather a warmth as if his cranium had been snared by an organic pouch.
The pain came a second later when he made an effort to twist away. He brought up his hands, grasping a wrist of unfathomable diameter. He might as well have been trying to twist a length of an iron railroad track for all the good it did.
The blinding pressure seemed to originate from several points at once, spanning from behind his ears to his temples. It dawned on him that his head was being squeezed by a giant human hand, which was an absurd notion until he recalled the huge man in the warehouse not two hours ago. He’s a bigun ain’t he? Even bigger up close and not a mute either.
“I wouldn’t try that again, mister. I’m barely squeezing right now. You have no idea how bad it can get and I’m sure you don’t want to find out. Now, it’s best if you just relax and keep them arms in your lap.” The voice was not as Buddy expected. Not high pitched, but no Shaquille O’Neal either.
“Where’s Matt? What have you done with my son?”
“The boy is fine, I promise.”
That seemed to relax Buddy somewhat. Whether or not it was true was another matter but he wanted to believe it. Had to believe it.
The bright green pit viper Samson withdrew from the burlap sack was a native of Sri Lanka but could survive in North America if placed in the right conditions. Although quite different in appearance, the viper was a direct relative of the North American rattlesnake. Aside from its brilliant color, its chief difference was its size, which varied from twelve to eighteen inches in length; tiny compared to the big timber rattlers in the southeastern United States.
This particular specimen was barely a foot long, perfectly suited for occasions such as this. Perhaps due to their size, which so often determined the pecking order of nature’s creatures, this species of pit viper was not particularly aggressive and would generally only strike out when threatened or cornered in a confined space. But when it decided to strike, it released a venom few ever survived, for if an antidote were even available, any treatment would be ineffective after only fifteen minutes.
Buddy felt the coolness of the reptile against his flesh as Samson fed the viper head first inside the driver’s shirt collar. Buddy flinched, which earned him another squeeze of the cranium; this one sending bright white flashes of pain across his field of vision, causing him to forget, for the moment, the creature that had invaded the underneath of his clothing.
“Be still,” Samson whispered in his ear. “If your soul is pure, your body will be calm. God sees through the eyes of the serpent, just as in Eden. If your heart is dark, He will know, and you will be punished.”
This guy is a total nutcase thought Buddy. But he’s right about one thing. If I stay perfectly still the snake will leave me alone and crawl right on out of my sleeve.
Buddy’s lower back was against the seat back, causing the restless serpent to find its way into an arm pit opening, pausing momentarily. It resumed motion when Buddy shivered, genuinely frightened now, frightened as he had never been in his life.
The snake turned at the right elbow, following the arm from inside the long sleeved shirt. That’s when Buddy lost his resolve to remain absolutely still, demonstrating one reason why he never qualified for Marine sniper training. The other reason was that he just wouldn’t listen to a #### thing anybody tried to tell him.
He struck out with his left hand, slapping at the viper through the cloth. He never even felt the pair of fangs as they sunk into his flesh on his inner forearm, six inches above his wrist.
There was no need for Samson to increase pressure on his skull for the venom acted rapidly, working its magic on the central nervous system in short order. Within seconds Buddy experienced blurriness of vision and disorientation. He retained enough self-awareness to know he was in trouble, serious trouble.
Drool ran from his mouth and dripped from his chin as his fingers clenched and unclenched of their own volition.
Samson recognized the signs and released his grip of the dying man’s head. He knew he could leave now as his job was essentially done here, but never one to disobey Isaac, he waited until the man took his final breath, leaving no doubt whatsoever.
“Good luck, Buddy, and thanks again for everything. I’ll be in touch, perhaps sooner than you think,” Isaac said as he pulled next to the semi, not offering to shake hands, still wearing the latex gloves. Buddy offered a salute as the silver Ford sped out to the highway.
As he climbed into the rig he paused, wondering if he had remembered to lock the doors. Maybe Matt had went out to pee and had forgotten to lock the door behind himself. The matter was quickly dismissed as he withdrew the money from the envelope while sitting behind the wheel, anxious to count it again, to fondle it lovingly, fanning it out before him like a massive hand of playing cards, each bill an ace of diamonds.
A blur of movement from the periphery of his vision was all the warning he had before a firm pressure enveloped his entire head. There was no pain, but rather a warmth as if his cranium had been snared by an organic pouch.
The pain came a second later when he made an effort to twist away. He brought up his hands, grasping a wrist of unfathomable diameter. He might as well have been trying to twist a length of an iron railroad track for all the good it did.
The blinding pressure seemed to originate from several points at once, spanning from behind his ears to his temples. It dawned on him that his head was being squeezed by a giant human hand, which was an absurd notion until he recalled the huge man in the warehouse not two hours ago. He’s a bigun ain’t he? Even bigger up close and not a mute either.
“I wouldn’t try that again, mister. I’m barely squeezing right now. You have no idea how bad it can get and I’m sure you don’t want to find out. Now, it’s best if you just relax and keep them arms in your lap.” The voice was not as Buddy expected. Not high pitched, but no Shaquille O’Neal either.
“Where’s Matt? What have you done with my son?”
“The boy is fine, I promise.”
That seemed to relax Buddy somewhat. Whether or not it was true was another matter but he wanted to believe it. Had to believe it.
The bright green pit viper Samson withdrew from the burlap sack was a native of Sri Lanka but could survive in North America if placed in the right conditions. Although quite different in appearance, the viper was a direct relative of the North American rattlesnake. Aside from its brilliant color, its chief difference was its size, which varied from twelve to eighteen inches in length; tiny compared to the big timber rattlers in the southeastern United States.
This particular specimen was barely a foot long, perfectly suited for occasions such as this. Perhaps due to their size, which so often determined the pecking order of nature’s creatures, this species of pit viper was not particularly aggressive and would generally only strike out when threatened or cornered in a confined space. But when it decided to strike, it released a venom few ever survived, for if an antidote were even available, any treatment would be ineffective after only fifteen minutes.
Buddy felt the coolness of the reptile against his flesh as Samson fed the viper head first inside the driver’s shirt collar. Buddy flinched, which earned him another squeeze of the cranium; this one sending bright white flashes of pain across his field of vision, causing him to forget, for the moment, the creature that had invaded the underneath of his clothing.
“Be still,” Samson whispered in his ear. “If your soul is pure, your body will be calm. God sees through the eyes of the serpent, just as in Eden. If your heart is dark, He will know, and you will be punished.”
This guy is a total nutcase thought Buddy. But he’s right about one thing. If I stay perfectly still the snake will leave me alone and crawl right on out of my sleeve.
Buddy’s lower back was against the seat back, causing the restless serpent to find its way into an arm pit opening, pausing momentarily. It resumed motion when Buddy shivered, genuinely frightened now, frightened as he had never been in his life.
The snake turned at the right elbow, following the arm from inside the long sleeved shirt. That’s when Buddy lost his resolve to remain absolutely still, demonstrating one reason why he never qualified for Marine sniper training. The other reason was that he just wouldn’t listen to a #### thing anybody tried to tell him.
He struck out with his left hand, slapping at the viper through the cloth. He never even felt the pair of fangs as they sunk into his flesh on his inner forearm, six inches above his wrist.
There was no need for Samson to increase pressure on his skull for the venom acted rapidly, working its magic on the central nervous system in short order. Within seconds Buddy experienced blurriness of vision and disorientation. He retained enough self-awareness to know he was in trouble, serious trouble.
Drool ran from his mouth and dripped from his chin as his fingers clenched and unclenched of their own volition.
Samson recognized the signs and released his grip of the dying man’s head. He knew he could leave now as his job was essentially done here, but never one to disobey Isaac, he waited until the man took his final breath, leaving no doubt whatsoever.