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2
Most people do not know that the Panama Canal is east of Miami, Florida, or that it runs north/south rather than east/west. Neither did Jeff Healy until a construction company his firm represented became involved in the Panama Canal Expansion Project.
After almost one hundred years, the old locks still work perfectly, but they are too small. 1050’ long and 110’ wide is not enough for modern container ships; so Panama, which now owns and runs the canal, is building a new set of locks 1400’ long and 180’ wide. For the past two years Jeff Healy had been flying to Panama City every other month to handle the construction company’s legal affairs. He had come to know the country well, from corporate conference rooms in high rise towers overlooking the Pacific Ocean to the slums of one of the toughest towns in the world, Colon, at the Caribbean canal entrance; from pristine, almost impenetrable jungles, to resorts on beautiful offshore islands.
Panama is a better place to do business now than before the United States invaded in 1989 and captured Manuel Noriega in what has been called the most expensive drug bust in history; but there are still drugs, corruption, and some of the most depraved brothels in the world, catering to clients of all classes, rich and poor, and all tastes. If you want it, if you can imagine it, you can find it in Panama.
His business completed, Jeff Healy checked out of the Trump International and took a taxi to the Miramar, where he did not check in but caught another taxi to The Bristol, where he had never before stayed. He registered as Tom Wolfe, after slipping the desk clerk five twenty dollar bills and telling him that his passport was at the Brazilian Embassy being processed for a visa. Jeff knew that $100 was too much for this slight discretion and he had another request, a driver “who can show me the night life and bring me back safely.”
“Of course, Mr. Wolfe. I know several such men. What time do you want to be picked up?”
“10:00 p.m.”
The clerk, a middle aged man with a furrowed forehead, furrowed further. “That is early, sir. Often, I am told, clubs are more... interesting after midnight.”
“Thanks for the advice. But I’ll start at 10 and do the rounds. I may need to visit several places to find exactly what I want.”
The clerk smiled with understanding. “Very good, sir.”
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“This is the place, Mister Wolfe,” said Jorge, the driver of the old, but immaculate Mercedes. “You will find anything you want here.” His brother, Manny, nodded. Jeff Healey had been surprised to find two men when he was picked up at The Bristol. Jorge was small. Manny was not. Jorge explained, “You pay nothing extra. But we are going places where I do not want to sit in the car alone.”
They had already been to three clubs. Jeff Healey had told Jorge to save the worst, or best depending on your perspective, for last. Now they were down near the docks, just beyond the container facility, outside a converted warehouse illuminated by a flickering neon sign that read, Blanco y Negro. Cars and trucks filled the parking lot, which was patrolled by two men in khaki uniforms.
“It is safe here,” continued Jorge. “Just not on the streets around.”
Jeff Healey got out of the Mercedes. Even at 2:00 a.m. the night was hot and the air sticky. Sweat darkened the back of his shirt.
As he neared the entrance, the door opened from within and sounds poured out: music with a hard beat; voices; a shriek. A Manny-size man stood just inside the doorway. He started to speak in Spanish, but when he saw Jeff he partially switched to English.
“Welcome, amigo.” And the door closed on the night.
The room took up only a small part of the warehouse. Half was brightly and garishly lit, almost floodlit. The other half dark, with only a few flickering lights, glowing tips of cigarettes amid deep shadows. A bar, a low stage, a dozen small tables and a dozen or so booths along the walls were visible on the lighted side. The tables were mismatched: some wood scared with scratches and cigarette burns; some of cracked and chipped fake marble. The seats and backs of the booths were covered with red vinyl, whose interior foam poked through cracks. Despite a ceiling lost far above the reach of the lights, the room was thick with cigarette and cigar smoke. ‘Good,’ thought Jeff. Neither of them smoked and Mary hated cigarette smoke.
“Take a seat,” the big man said. “At the bar, a table, a booth. If you prefer the dark, it is the same as what you see here. I will take you.” And he held up a small flashlight.
“No. This will do. Gracias.” And he handed the man a ten dollar bill before wending his way to a center table, where he could see most of the room. At least the lighted half.
Several of the other tables were occupied by men, singly or in groups, as were most of the booths, and the bar stools were almost all filled. The men were a mix. Some were dressed in suits and ties or expensive shirts and slacks. Others had obviously just come from the docks or ships or driving a truck. Blacks, whites, and a scattering of Asians. Cologne and stale sweat mingled with smoke.
Fifteen or twenty women sat with or moved between the men, circling, seeking attention, emerged from or disappeared into the dark side. They, too, were a mix of races and ages. Some in their late teens. Some old enough to be their mothers. About half, Jeff thought, were fuckable. Three were Anglos; the rest Latin or black. Two of the women, in addition to the young one and the old one sixty-nining on the stage, were naked except for high heels. None of the others was fully dressed. Those sitting with men were all being mauled. Hands were between spread thighs or squeezing exposed breasts. As he watched a small man pushed the head of a fat girl into his lap. Jeff watched the head move up and down. He did not turn, but wet sounds from one of the booths behind him must be fucking. He heard a grunt.
An olive-skinned woman, who looked about thirty in the harsh light, but might have been much younger, approached. She was wearing only a red silk blouse that fell to just below her cunt, held together by one button, black stilettos, and a pasted-on smile.
“Buy a girl a drink, mister?” she asked as her fingers undid the button and the blouse opened to expose large dark nippled breasts and a thick thatch of black public hair. Jeff noted with satisfaction a large yellow bruise on her left thigh and another on her upper arm. They would look good on Mary.
“Not now. Send your boss over.”
Eyes suddenly frightened. “Did I do something wrong? Please?”
Jeff enjoyed her fear. That, too, would look good on Mary.
“No. Just send him over.”
“Si. Of course.” And she clip-clopped hurriedly into darkness.
Another woman approached. This one wearing a black butt floss thong and heels. Jeff noted with satisfaction that she, too, had a few bruises, but hers were black and blue not yellow. “Something to drink?”
“Tequila. Straight. No ice.”
He wasn’t about to drink anything here, but had to order.
While she was gone, he watched the two women lying on the stage almost within arms reach. The older one was now on her back and the younger kneeling, licking her cunt. In their exertions, they had lost their shoes. The older one’s feet were up in the air; the younger’s turned toward him. The soles of both women’s feet black with grime. The older one’s eyes were open, but unfocused, vague beyond whatever pleasure the other’s tongue and fingers, two of which were now plunging in and out of her pink cunt, were bringing. Drugs or booze or too much experience? Jeff wondered.
“Senor?”
Jeff turned. A slim man, his own age or a bit older, trim, pencil thin mustache, wearing a dark perfectly cut suit whose elegance contrasted with the surroundings.
“Are you the owner?”
“One of them.” The man smiled. “Is there a problem?”
“No. I just want a few words. A proposition.”
“A proposition? I am skeptical about propositions, senor.”
“Please sit. Just a few minutes.”
The slim man studied Jeff Healey, then pulled back a chair, “I am Neptuno, And what do I call you?”
“Tom...No. My real name is Jeff. The men driving me know me as Tom.”
“And what is this proposition?”
“Your girls take it in the ass?”
Neptuno turned and followed Jeff’s eyes to the stage where the younger woman had half her hand up the older one’s rectum. He turned back. “That is not a proposition. But yes, my girls take it up the ass. They take it any where you want it. Any way you want it. And they will moan and beg for more; or scream and beg you to stop. Whichever you want. For as along as you want.
“As you can see,” encompassing the room with a gesture of his head. “We have a varied clientele. Poor working men, rich business men, and a few tourists, who find us as you must have done. We let the poor use the women very cheaply and make our profit from the wealthy, who like knowing how debased and helpless these whores are, who want the most sordid. Some of them, both rich and poor, like to do things to women that most women don’t like. And here they find women who can’t say ‘no.’ The poor are hard used by life. Here they find someone they can use even harder. And some rich men find a thrill in fucking such a used women. There are no limits. None. My partners and I are, shall we say, very well connected. If a man goes too far and a girl can’t work for a while--or forever--he pays extra. Naturally. For the lost business. But there are no problems.
Isn’t that what you are looking for?”
“Yes. But that’s not my proposition. Here.” And he took two photos from his shirt pocket and slid them across the table.
Neptuno reached out an arm. White shirt cuff. Black pearl cuff-link. He looked down at the photos--one was of Mary in a bikini lying on a beach taken during a vacation at St. Barts five years earlier; the other of her with bare shoulders in a strapless black sheath at his firm’s last Christmas party--then back at Jeff and smiled. “Beautiful. Your wife. Or mistress Past or present.”
“Wife. Present.”
“And?”
“I will give her to you.”
Eyebrows arched in mock surprise. “Give?”
“Give.”
From the dark side of the room came the sound of a hand slap, a cry, breaking glass, chair legs scraping the floor. From the stage the older woman’s gasped as the younger licked and thrust.
Neptuno nodded with understanding. “We have done this, Jeff. Local men send me a woman for a while, to be punished, to learn a lesson. And she is always better behaved when we send her back.”
“I don’t want her back. You keep her until she is so diseased and used up that no one wants her, and then dispose of her as you wish.”
A slow whistle came from between Neptuno’s lips. “You really do not like this woman. What is her name?”
“Mary.”
“And how do you propose to ‘give’ her to me? Surely you have a plan.”
“I come here often on business. I’ll bring her along for a mini-vacation. Then before we are scheduled to return to the U.S., I’ll be called back unexpectedly, convincing her to stay the few extra days. She’ll be glad to be rid of me. She’ll stay. I’ll let you know the hotel and the time she will be going to the airport. You have a taxi driver there to pick her up. He brings her to you instead. I become concerned when she isn’t on the flight. There is a brief investigation that leads no where. I make a fuss for a while, but not a big one. Finito.”
“And you want nothing in return? No money. A woman with those looks, an Anglo, will bring in lots.”
“No money. All I want is to come back from time to time when she is working and use her as the other men do. Without charge.”
“Ha! You have an evil mind, Mister Jeff.”
“She will not be willing. You will have to break her.”
Neptuno waved one long-fingered hand dismissively. “That is nothing. Do you think any of these women are willing? They are here because of drugs or a debt or a crime. We have an arrangement with the police. Given a choice between being arrested, convicted and imprisoned--our prisons are not so pleasant as yours--they prefer to work here, at least in the beginning, and then it is too late. Those two on stage, mother and daughter, do you think they willingly lick each other’s cunts? The father/husband owes a friend of mine a lot of money. They work to pay it off, but,” he chuckled, “they barely cover the interest. They will be with us for a long, long time At least the young one.
“We do get a woman every once in a while from the upper class, who works an occasional night, who wants to fuck on the wild side, and who is excited to know that once she comes through the club door, she is just another whore who can refuse no one, not the lowest whom she would normally not even spit upon, and nothing.
“Those women are good business,too, for the novelty. But mostly my customers prefer unwilling women. And I do, too.”
Jeff Healy’s eyes were unnaturally bright. His heart racing. “Then we have a deal?”
“No.”
“No? But..”
Neptuno held up a hand. “Not in Panama. Friends of mine would not want an investigation of an American disappearing in Panama. Take your vacation in Costa Rica. We will do it there. I know people. No problem getting her across the border.”
Jeff had not realized that he was holding his breath, which now came out in one whoosh.
“All right!”
Neptuno extended his hand. Jeff shook it.
“This calls for a drink. Not that.” Neptuno said of what was in Jeff’s glass. “I have better in my office. On the way, I can show you more of Maria’s new home.
“When we first opened,” he continued, “This was very different. Furnishings. Decor. The finest. Business was good for a while, then dropped off. We had only affluent clients then and they quickly become bored. So we threw out all the fine stuff and brought in this crap and gave them something no one else does. They wanted a dump, a dive. But a safe one, where they wouldn’t get beaten up or stabbed by some truck driver or dock worker; but where they’d be fucking the same women just after. Come.” And he stood.
Just as Jeff Healey stood, too, the lights reversed, and, startled, he froze as the formerly dark side became bright, the bright dark.
“A computer program. Random.” said Neptuno.
Ahead in the previous darkness, Jeff saw a woman bent over a table, her green dress bunched around her waist. Head of long blond dyed hair with black roots sucking on a black cock on one side of the table; while another black man fucked her from behind on the other. Calloused fingers dug deep into her hips. Her dangling naked breasts scraped back and forth across the splintered table.
In a booth, pale naked legs spread wide, almost into a split. Grinning men held opposite feet with purple painted toenails as though they were pulling on a wishbone.
The rank smell of stale sweat grew stronger. Nauseating as Jeff and Neptuno passed a booth in which sat a man of skin and bones who had his shirt off. Obviously he had not bathed for days. Or weeks. Perhaps preparing to enjoy this moment. How much worse, Jeff thought, it must be for the pretty Anglo girl who was licking his armpit?
On the far side of the room, the smell of sweat was overpowered by a stronger stench.
Inside a clear plastic cylinder, two and a half feet in diameter and five feet high, open at the top, a naked woman with sticky hair knelt in a couple of inches of yellow liquid. Four holes were cut at 90º intervals in the cylinder at waist level.
“Every girl does a shift in turn. Or sooner if I want to punish her. A dollar to come or piss on her. Or both. The inside has a mirror coating. We can see in, but she cannot see out. Only her increasingly drenched reflection. There is a drain, but just for cleaning. After several hours on a busy night the level gets quite high. But no one has drowned yet.”
Jeff paused. The woman had a bull tattooed on her back. Most of the women in the place had tattoos. Many had piercings: lips, tongues, navels, nipples, eyebrows. Mary despised tattoos and piercings.
A gray-haired man in a gray business suit, white shirt, loosened tie, walked up, unzipped and stuck his wizened cock through one of the holes and spoke a single word. The kneeling woman opened her mouth.
Neptuno said, “They understand “open” in thirty different languages. Or not. What else is a man going to be telling them while they are in there?”
A dark yellow stream arched out. Found its target. A throat swallowed.
Jeff turned and looked back. Women on their knees beneath tables, bent over, spread open, this one being pissed on. Mary. Mary. Mary. Mary.
“We have private rooms, too,” said Neptuno. “But most of our patrons prefer being part of the show.
Maria’s new home is perfect, thought Jeff Healey.
----------
An hour later.
After the clinching drink in Neptuno’s office, he had offered Jeff the use of any of the women. For the novelty Jeff had chosen the mother and daughter who had been on stage when he first arrived.
“They do not speak English. Any special instructions they need to be given?”
“Tell them that whoever’s mouth I come in, she is not to swallow, but kiss the other and share my come.”
Neptuno smiled.
“And I will need some rope.”
The mother and daughter knelt facing one another a foot apart. Jeff Healey stood between them. All were naked. His hands were buried in the mother’s hair, squeezing her skull as he forced his cock down her throat. The daughter’s tongue was buried in his ass. He could see all three in a mirror on the wall. Mary, he thought. And Mary. When he turned and shoved his cock past the daughter’s lips, the mother’s tongue obediently entered his ass. They understood the routine. They’d been at it a while. He was about to come, but couldn’t decide where. It didn’t matter. They’d both taste his come. A strangled sound from the daughter as he held her to him, suffocating her, shooting a huge load into her mouth. “Don’t swallow,” he warned. She understood the tone, if not the words.
When he was though, he turned and wiped the last drops oozing from the end of his cock on the mother’s face, then put a hand behind each of their heads, pushing their faces together. They kissed, lips opened. Saliva and come were exchanged. Eyes looked up at him questioningly.
“All right. Si.”
He watched throats swallow.
Mary.
After a while he had them kneel again facing one another, but this time with no space between them. Breast--the daughter’s larger, firmer, higher--pressed to breast. Pelvic bone to pelvic bone. Thigh to thigh.
He took their hands and raised them over their heads. Then made a loop in one end of the rope, wrapped it around them at the waist and cinched it tight. Flesh bulged around fiber. The women moaned. He pulled even tighter, welding their bodies together. Tied a knot. Stood back. Studied his handiwork. Stuck out a bare foot and pushed them over, onto their sides. Dark fearful eyes followed him as he went to the chair on which his clothes were draped and pulled his belt from his pants.
“No!” They both cried as his arm raised. And again louder when it came down.
Jeff beat them both equally. Enjoyed watching red welts appear. Enjoyed the screams. Enjoyed imaging that this was happening to Mary. But, although still difficult to believe, that wasn’t imagination. Soon it would. The daughter was the first to break. She sought escape by rolling onto her back, which exposed her mother’s body.
Jeff beat the older woman’s back and buttock’s and thighs harder, until the mother could endure no more and tried to twist out of the way. The two women fought, each trying to avoid the blows, to cause them to rain down on the other.
Mary,
When his arm finally tired, he dropped the belt and rolled the women onto their sides.
Lying down behind the daughter, he pulled her ass apart--the skin was angry red and purple from the blows and hot to his touch--and shoved his cock up her ass. It hung for a moment at the sphincter. He shoved harder. The tip broke through the barrier and slid to the hilt. He grunted with satisfaction at the tight warmth. Mary had only let him in her ass a few times and not for years. She said it hurt too much. He hoped it still did.
As he plunged in and out, he reached across and pulled the mother’s tear stained face to him and kissed her. She tasted of salt.
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Playas del Coco, Costa Rica.
A month later.
A tall, beautiful woman walked out of the Hotel Pilar to a waiting taxi. Shoulder length brown hair rustling in sea breeze. Long honey tanned legs disappearing beneath a white linen dress.
A small man, wearing a white short-sleeved shirt and dark trousers, got out on the driver’s side and took her two bags, which he placed in the truck, before opening the back seat door for the woman.
“You go to the airport?”
“Yes.”
“There is no one else, senora?”
“No. My husband had to fly back early. I decided to stay on.”
The woman was surprised to see a man sitting on the passenger side of the front seat.
As the driver got in, he said, “My cousin, Manny. Visiting from Panama. He is going to the airport, too.”
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