A Blind Date With Crescent

A Blind Date With Crescent
by Anonymous

The coldness shocked him awake. What happened? When did I black out? It was taking him too long to get his bearings. The coldness was water. My mask is off. But…I'm still wearing something. Black, everything was black. Blindfold. He couldn't move his arms or legs. I'm in a chair. Where am I? He was gasping for breath out of shock more than anything. When he realized, he slowed it down to a normal pace. His pulse would soon follow. Come on Skinner, get your shit together.

“You…are…a difficult man to get a hold of Skinner.” It was a woman's voice. Who's? Who was it? Have I met her? She was walking down steps. Metal steps. “I've been waiting to meet you for a long, long time.” I haven't met her. He couldn't place a voice to the name. There was a sound of a truck backing up from…probably a mile away. It was moving something. It was noisy. He tapped his shoe against the floor. The way it bounced back against his foot let him know it was metal too.

“Where am I?” I'd best stall her. There were chains above his head. Unless she put them there, which was actually likely, dollars to doughnuts, I'm in an abandoned factory. He shifted his weight slightly. The chair was chained to the floor somehow. There was a dripping sound somewhere. If I can just…slow my breathing for a second…I could hear…

“If I wanted you to know where you were, why did I blindfold you, drug you, and turn off the lights?”

Shut up you ugly cow! He slowed his breathing down….and…there. Rushing water. I'm in an abandoned factory in the industrial park south of the river.

“Who are you?”

“Come on, Skinner, I know you better than that. You're a pro at this game,” she was walking again, the sound her shoes made on the metal…is she in high heels? “and so am I. So why don't you ask a question that's a little more…pertinent.” She was opening a latch…on a suitcase. Tools.

“What would you like to know?”

She sighed. “You work for the old man. He has an armory hidden on the west side. Where is it?” She spoke so quickly, her tone of voice…so frustrated…like a mother asking her children where they hid her car keys. She's disappointed. She wants me to hold out. She likes to…interrogate people. His kind of woman.

“Over on the west side you'll find a garbage dump, are you writing this down? You should be writing this down…”

“It's being recorded.” She sounded almost…crestfallen.

“The garbage dump you're looking for is up your mother's fetid rotting snatch you dirty fucking bitch! Ah hahahahahaha!” There was a pause there. A pause that could mean anything.

“Well, it sounds like you're not going to cooperate…” she sounded much more sensual now, like at the beginning. “We'll just have to see what we can do to change that…” the smack across his face was so unexpected that his head lolled around like a ragdoll.

“I don't know,” Skinner regained composure from the whiplash, “I think that was a bit forced. Could you try that again like you're not petting a kitten?”

This time it wasn't a smack, it was a punch. A punch that sent him reeling. Ah, there's that old copper taste. He spit out a mouthful of blood. “With a hook like that…” spittle hung from his lip to chest “…you're practically already a woman. Soon, you'll have your period and you and your mother can go buy a training bra to-” This time it was a kick in the stomach. The wind was knocked out of him this time. I might just black out from this.

And he did.

The cold water was back. He swallowed some to wash the blood out of his mouth. It must not have been for a few minutes but it felt like hours.

“If the water won't keep you awake, I know something that will.”

Something was different. Smoke. Cigarette smoke. As the thought entered his brain the cigarette was put out just above his eye. His head jerked back and around to avoid it but she finished snuffing it out.

“Oh, come on. That wasn't so bad,” there was the sound of a flicker of a lighter. “There are much worse places to use as an ashtray. Now, where is the armory?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Skinner grinned from ear to ear. “Your mom's snatch is the perfect place to hide all those weapons. The only problem is that it's such a high-traffic area tha-”

The second cigarette was shoved up his nose. He had to admit, he hadn't seen that coming. His shook the chair so hard that it moved only slightly. He hummed loudly out his burnt nostril. The smell of cigarettes was literally burned into him.

“You're funny, Skinner,” she opened the case again, “why don't you use that mouth for something other than making jokes?”

He wanted to reply, but his mind couldn't think of anything. He felt like he was choking. Cigarette ash must've been caught in a sinus. But she waited.

She waited for a reply.

We both know what this is.

“So is that” he almost vomited. He had to wait for a bit to continue. “Is that an invitation for me to eat you out?”

She giggled. A school-girl laugh. “The more you make me laugh, the more shaky my hands are going to be. I'll have a real hard time holding onto these forceps…”

He thought she was going to go after his teeth, but instead she pulled up his shirt and went after the skin on his chest.
“TELL ME WHERE THE ARMORY IS!” Her voice sounded forceful, but not angry. She sounded like a woman, but she shouted like a man. The forceps pinched and twisted and worked their way up his shirt, closer and closer this nipples. With each twist he let out a feral grunt. “WHERE IS IT?”

The forceps reached to where his left nipple would have been. She pulled his shirt up a bit. He couldn't see, but he could tell she was surprised. He took the pause to catch his mind up. “That's a wound from my first sexual experience as a kid, when my older sister cut it off with a boning knife.” He smiled. He could tell she didn't know where to take this.

“Did I tell you…” she climbed off of him, “…YOU COULD TALK?!” He pieced it together later that that was the point where she smacked him with the stun-gun.

When he woke up again. His shirt had been removed completely. He couldn't tell what he was sore from, but it wasn't the usual post-blackout pangs. Something across his arms and face…she cut me while I was out. Something else was different but he couldn't put his finger on it. The hair on his legs felt off. Did she…did she take off my pants?

“Mr Mahi has an armory in the west side,” she was smoking again. She sounded much calmer. “Somewhere in Boss Negro's territory. Mahi's men can waltz in there at any time and walk out carrying a tank on their backs and the Boss wouldn't be able to prepare for it.” She yanked the blindfold off.

She was beautiful. Her skin looked so pale and bloodless. Her lips were the color of the blood on her hands. Her short hair the color of a bruise the morning after a fistfight. She wore a white jacket, a butcher's coat, with black leather underneath. She was sitting with her knees together but her feet apart on a table across the room. A dark shadowed room, made of grating, and metal catwalks, and railings. Not a room. A platform.

“Who are you?” Skinner's cool was gone. He knew he sounded awestruck.

“Crescent,” she said with the cigarette planted firmly in her mouth. She took a deep drag on the cigarette. “This armory has a tunnel attached to it. We're guessing Mahi's men drive supplies into some kind of garage and then smuggle the weapons in underground.”

He tried to piece together something to say. “You could work for a much better employer than Boss Negro.”

She took another drag on her cigarette and puffed the smoke out. “He's not so bad,” she crossed her legs, “once you work past all his voodoo bullshit.”

Skinner chuckled. “Can I?” He looked at the cigarette. She lit a second one up in her mouth, puffed on it a few times and walked across the room. “Thanks.” She put it in his mouth and walked back to the table, sitting on the edge. The cigarette felt so good. “Mahi pays better.”

She smiled. Not a forced smile like she no doubt did during their 'play' session, but something that looked natural. Like a normal person would have after being complimented. “Mahi doesn't need me when he has you and your, 'Sade Squad.' Besides, I'm actually kind of a freelancer like you. I even worked for the city once.”

“Really?” He dragged on the cigarette, long as he could. He didn't know when he'd get another one.

She took the cigarette out of her mouth. “But I never kiss and tell.”

They both laughed. There was a short comfortable pause.

“So your sister did that to you, huh?”

Skinner looked down at the scar tissue where his left nipple had been. “Yeah, it was kind of a messed up situation.” He felt a little embarrassed, which for him, was saying something.

“I can understand messed up situations…” her eyes softened, just a little. Their eyes met. “Well? Go on!”

He chuckled. “Alright, alright. I grew up in a…weird…sorta…cult. They worshiped this dead guy called the Marquis de Sade,” he let out all the smoke in his lungs, “and…I don't know if they ever followed his teachings to the letter or anything…I guess I was never all that religious.” The smile on his lips faded. “The society though…they'd been around for a while. This stuff was passed down from parent to kid, for…a long time.” He stopped talking and didn't know if he wanted to continue. “We're baptized with hot wax. When we were little babies. When I was ten, my grandma whipped me until I was unconscious. Somebody broke my arm by the time I woke up. We were all…taught…you know…to do that stuff to one another. My sister wanted to experiment with me, and…” he didn't know what else to say.

“…it is what it is.” Her cigarette ash was gone.

“…it is what it is…” he puffed on the last of his cigarette before the cherry fell onto his pants. “So what about you?”

She stood up and walked to a dark corner. “What about me…”

He laughed. “What made you, what you are today?”

She walked back over to him and smiled the fake-smile. “Not on the first date, hot-shot.” She threw his leather mask onto his lap. “I called your friends. They should be here in about twenty minutes.”

For a moment, he felt…sad. “Don't you wanna…”


“You know…”

She picked up her suitcase, the one with the tools, sat on his lap and put her arms around his neck. “Oh, the Armory? We know it's the recycling plant on Polk and Calhoun. Mahi's people drive a truck up to the auto-repair place a block away and move the stuff underground.”

Skinner was dumbfounded. He laughed. “Can I see you again sometime?”

“That depends…” she stood up to go but kissed him on the cheek. “The next date's on you…”

She kicked him hard in the chest, pushing his chair backwards. He fell over the edge of the platform towards the factory floor, fifty feet below.

The chair wasn't chained to the floor anymore, but it was apparently chained to the ceiling. The chains tightened across his chest as the chair swung wide, pushing the air out of his lungs. He could barely breathe. Just enough to not pass out.

Fifteen minutes later, the rest of his squad showed up. “Skinner! Skinner!” It was Tanner, from somewhere off to his left.

“I'm up here!” shouted Skinner, as much as he could shout with the chains around his ribcage.

“Fuck!” It was Cutter. “How's the situation boss?!”

“Nobody's here! You're clear to move!”

“Holy shit, Dwayne, find a ladder or something,” Cutter walked into view. “Is that chain attached to a pulley or something?”

Tanner talked next, “There's gotta be a button or switch that'll get him over to the platform. You alright boss?!”

Skinner smiled. “I'm fine, boys! Hurry it up and get me down! I've got a date to to keep!”

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