June 12th, 2009
Chap. 10
Chap. 10
 |
| "Verra well ye crazy fuck!" |
Sometimes life has a way of handing you a lesson you thought you had learned before, but knowing deep in your gut that you had only played lip service to having learned it, while not really having learned it at all and knowing full well that little error was eventually going to cost you big time.
This was one of those times for actor Gerremy McButler. Had he been in a state of oneness, which he constantly aspired to be since his many visits to India, he would not be here now, bent over a table and hog tied and trussed like a Turkey ready for the oven and the cook being none other than one deranged and sexually frustrated English Captain named F. Neil McRandall.
Allaine had told him his big mouth would one day get him into real trouble and he was wondering if this was the moment of truth. While he had occasionally given thought to hypothetical situations where he might one day be the victim of some deranged fan, he never envisioned this scenario in a million years. And what bothered him on top of all of it, was the fact that he was serving as a second string understudy for one Jamie Lee McFraser, he of the red hair and know it all wife, for a man who didn't even know or cared who the devil Gerremy McButler was.
How the hell was he going to get out of this? He had played the big hero in many a movie and he should be able to call upon some of his training to help him. But of course, there was no script here to show him the way and with all his gifts of blarney, he hadn't been able to sweet talk this particular antagonist to come around to his way of thinking.
When he had seen the man at his door, the alarm bells should have gone off immediately. But, of course, they hadn't. He had anxiously answered the knock, thinking it might be McFraser, or even the lovely Claire herself. But when the Captain had told him he had something he wanted to talk to him about, he had invited him in, glad to see a familiar face.
Things had gone from bad to worse after he had offered the Captain a drink and treated him to a few of his dirty jokes, which were always a good way to bond with his fellow males. He had even shared a story about a cross dresser he had tried to pick up at a bar once, quite unaware that it was a man at the time. The fact the captain had smiled wickedly at this story and run his boot up his leg under the table should have been the first clue. Unfortunately, by the time he realized what was going on, it was too late.
Said antagonist was at present, taking off his sword and looking him over like he was "literally " the last supper. McRandall was also absently rubbing the big lump on his forehead where he had been the recipient of a McButler Glasgow kiss. He himself had a matching one on his own forehead, when to his chagrin, he'd come to find out that said Captain had an equally hard head and, apparently, an even larger pain tolerance.
A couple of other things the Captain had, that he himself didn't, was a very big and very sharp hunting knife, which he had threatened to plunge into McButler's breast immediately after cutting off his testicles and stuffing them in his mouth if he didn't cooperate, and one very polished, if antique looking, silver pistol.
McButler, hands aching and going numb, thought he'd better come up with something fast or he was going to be the man's dinner. He had visions of being carved up like the turkey he felt. He'd better use his talents quickly and the only part of his talent that wasn't tied up was his mouth.
GMcB: Now let's be reasonable about this mate. Ah get it that ye like blokes an' specifically me at the moment. An' though ah dinna normally go that way, ah'm perfectly willin' tae help ye out in a bind, since ma dear cousin Jamie's no' available at the moment....But thare's really no reason tae tie me up like this. Ah mean, ah might enjoy it a little more if ma wrists werna tied so tight. Besides ma scraped knees are rubbin' against the table an' , tae be frank, they hurt like hell. Could ye no' see past lettin' me wash them off a bit before we proceed?
McRandall's laughed diabolically and the sound of it made McButler's hair stand on end.
McRandall: You are missing the point entirely, my dear man. It is your pain that gives me pleasure. Besides I thought you said you and Jamie were not related?
McButler was really scared now, but that would only make matters worse, so he struggled to control it and went on matter of factly, trying to sound as reasonable as one could in his situation.
GMcB: Well, yeah, ah get that. Ah dinna mind a little pain maself, but it all depends on what kind o' pain an' where it is, if ye know what ah mean?
Suddenly getting an idea, he follows that tack.
GMcB: Ye know what would really tarn me on tae this whole thing? Hows about we play doctor?
McRandall is taking off his coat and hanging it on the chair.
.
McRandall: (curious now) Doctor?
GMcB: Aye. Ye know doctors make ye feel better before they make ye feel worse sometimes? Well, furst ye could clean up ma knees an' say soothin' things tae me, an' then ye kin tie me up again an' dae what ye want wi me? It's more fun if it's a game, wi' a little role playin' , ye ken?
McRandall: (looking dubious) Role playing?
GMcB: Yeah, ah'm really guid at that stuff. As a matter o' fact, if ye untie ma hands ah could even show ye how grateful ah am, while ye doctor ma knees.
Gerremy can see the wheels turning in McRandall's brain.
GMcB: Ah'd be foolish tae make a break fer it, since ye have all the weapons an' ah've none tae speak o'.
McRandall: You have a point. Very well. Just give me your word as a gentlemen that there will be no more of that childish head butting?
GMcB: (grinning) Ah gie ye ma wort as a gentlemen.
Taking his knife, McRandall cuts the rope tying Gerremy to the table.
GMcB: What dae ye say tae another drink? Ye barely touched yers an' ah could surely use one.
McRandall looks at him and reaching over for the bottle on the other end of the table, pours out a drink for him.
McRandall: Sit down a moment and let me see what I can find to clean up your knees.
GMcB: Arna ye goin' tae untie ma hands?
McRandall: Not until I'm good and ready.
GMcB: Verra well (lowering his voice) ye crazy fuck!
GMcB: Ye're no' familiar wi' the wort?
McRandall: (narrowing his eyes) Never heard it used.
GMcB: (unable to suppress his ironic humor, even now) It's what ye call a real piece o' work.
McRandall: (pleased with this explanation) How appropriate.
As soon as McRandall's back is turned, McButler fumbles in Jamie's sporran for the Ambien he had tucked away. Struggling to get the cap off with the limited motion his tied wrists allow, he manages to pull out several pills and drop them in McRandall's drink with a fervent prayer that the high alcohol content of the whiskey will dissolve them quickly.
Seconds later McRandall returns with a small piece of the sheet he has ripped off and kneeling before Gerremy, he turns up the bloody kilt. Dipping a corner of the rag into the whiskey, he starts harshly rubbing it on the open abrasions of McButler's knees.
Giving out a blood curdling scream, McButler bites his lip when he notices the ecstatic look on McRandall's face and the rising bulge in his trousers.
McRandall: Mmmmm. I'm starting to see your point in this role playing thing, but I thought you said you liked a little pain?
GMcB: (through clenched teeth) Yeah, but how about that drink now?
McButler tries to push down his kilt as McRandall picks up the glasses and hands him one.
McRandall: Let's drink a toast to "playing doctor." I think I like this game.
Raising his cup, he downs the contents in several gulps and sits there waiting for McButler to do the same.
McButler sees no choice but to go along with the game and takes several swigs of the amber liquid.
McRandall: Drink up man. There are many more pleasures ahead here.
McButler: If ye dinna mind, ah think ah'll save the rest fer after some o' em, aye?
McRandall: Suit yourself. Now where were we?
Carefully, he starts unbuttoning McButler's shirt, while Gerremy watches him closely for signs of the drug and alcohol taking effect. There was enough there to fell a horse, and he should start feeling it any minute.
Taking the knife from it's shield, McRandall illustrates the sharpness of his tool by shaving off a band of McButler's chest hair and holding his hand in the air, letting them float down like a shower over his head.
Dreamily, he repeats the motion again, only this time a little lower and, watching Gerremy close his eyes, he thinks it is from the pleasure he feels.
GMcB: Ohhh fv-ck!
Gerramy McButler's chin falls to his chest and several seconds later when the first snore comes, McRandall realizes his "patient" has fallen asleep.
Insulted, he shakes him harshly, only to get a low moan and another snore.
Angry now, he jerks the snoring McButler to his feet and roughly drapes him over the table, pulling his kilt up around his shoulders and slamming the knife into the table near his head. McButler opens one eye to see it, then passes out again.
McRandall: You bloody, damned Scot! There is no way you are going to sleep your way through this. I shall have you asleep or awake!
Stepping back he drops his trousers and leans against the mirror to step out of them, directing his rage at the snoozing McButler.
McRandall: We'll see if you can sleep through what I have in mind for you, you stupid...Scottish (fumbling for a word, he tries a new one) fuck!
The mirror behind him turns shimmery as the vortex opens up and sucks him in, bare ass first, before it closes behind him leaving Gerremy McButler completely alone again, indignantly exposed, and snoring like a baby.
New York City
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| Caffe Falai |
Sitting at a table at Caffe Falai on Lafayette Street, Rusty Elvaino was having lunch with Allaine Siegelson, who had flown out late the night before to figure out what to do to track the missing Gerremy McButler. Not wanting to alarm anyone, he had counseled Rusty not to call the police in just yet and decided it would be prudent to make the trip and see what could be done.
Digging into his Agnolotti Formaggi with gusto, he was watching Rusty pick at the aromatic Linguini Vongole, while they sipped a nice vino rosato the waiter had recommended.
Siegelson: Stop worrying Rusty. He's bound to show up soon. Perhaps he went to some weird retreat where they don't let you use your cell phone. You know how some of those things are.
Elvaino: I wish I could. You know Gerry. They'd have to pry that BlackBerry from his cold, dead hand to get it away from him.
Sielgelson: I suppose you're right. But you never know. He's really into this Indian stuff at the moment.
Elavaino: You don't suppose this Preyanker chick he's in love with knows where he is, do you?
Siegelson: (shaking his head) I called her people. Said she hadn't heard from him.
Elvaino: What about his mom?
Siegelson: First place I called. Hey, you know this pasta isn't half bad. How's yours?
Elvaino: It's good. Very tasty. (looking around) No wonder Gerry likes this place. It's full of women.
Siegelson: Nice, eh? I like the decor. Good vibes. By the way, have I told you the latest funny from Gerryland?
Elvaino: Now what?
Siegelson: (laughing) You remember the comment Gerry made after The Hangover premiere?
Elvaino: How can I forget? I laughed my ass off when I read it.
Siegelson: Well my assistant was checking out some of the fan sites for feedback the other day and she stumbled onto one who was having a fundraiser. Digging a little deeper, she discovered that one of the fans had knit these little things she called the "Gerry Butler Cock Cozy" in the shape of a chicken and was selling them on e-bay, and apparently making a killing too.
Elvaino starts laughing uncontrollably.
Siegelson: (grinning) And you haven't heard the worst of it yet. Her pitch was "For the Gerry Butler fan who has everything, this is the one item your significant other can wear to turn you ON! After all, every cock needs a chicken!"
Elvaino: Oh my God. Where do these women get these ideas? Can you imagine a bunch of grown men running around naked wearing knitted chickens on their pecker?
Siegelson: From Gerry, apparently. (laughs) And you'll never believe what charity the proceeds are going to?
Elvaino: Save The Chicken...Buy a Cozy?
Siegelson: (with a straight face) Gerry's Herd: Goats for Appalachia.
Elvaino: (laughing) Even when he's not here, the man is funny. I wonder where the hell he is?
Siegelson: Hopefully keeping his pants on and staying out of trouble.
Elvaino: Well, this morning when I checked the news headlines on my laptop I saw the headline "Star's Strange Activity Stuns Scientist" and actually clicked on it, thinking they might be talking about Gerry.
Allaine: (laughing) And they weren't?
Elvaino: Naaah, it was about a shrinking star in the Orion constellation.
Hollywood TMZ Headquarters
Misc.Pap: Hey Harley, there are some serious rumors floating around that Gerard Butler has disappeared. He hasn't been seen out at any of the clubs lately and we've got all the usual spots covered.
Harley Levine: I wonder if he's gotten tired of our little piece on him and is taking extra measures to avoid us?
Misc. Pap: No, seriously. The rumor mill at IMDb and the fan sites have been going crazy trying to dig him up. If those people can't find him, no one can. His management is not commenting.
Harley Levine: Okay. We may have to outsource this. Let's bring out the big guns. If she can't track him down, no one can.
Scotland
Late that night Gerremy McButler awakened in the dark, still lying over the table with his hands and feet bound. He was disoriented and freezing his arse off, literally. His hands and feet were numb and his back ached. As the situation he was in slowly came back to him, he wondered where the crazy dragoon was?
His arse was so cold, he couldn't tell whether anything had happened to him or not, but he was still alive and that was something, under the circumstances.
Trying to piece together what had happened he realized he had drunk the cup with the Ambien and that was the last he remembered.
He turned his head to the other side with difficulty, as his neck was stiff. Luckily, though numb, his hands were tied in front of him. He tried to straighten up and finally managed to do so with some difficulty. Opening and closing his fists, he tried to work some blood back into his fingers. After a few minutes he remembered the last thing McRandall had done was slam the big knife, point first, into the table a few inches from his head to scare him. If he could find it in the dark he could try to cut his bonds loose, hopefully without cutting himself and bleeding to death. Groping around in the dark and careful not to move lest he fall over, his hands found the blade end of the knife first and felt it slice into one of his fingers.
GMcB: Ouch! Damn it!
Carefully sliding up the blade, he was able to put his hands over the hilt and using all his strength, pull it out.
His wrists were bound so tightly, there was no way to cut through his bonds, but at the angle he was holding the knife, if he could find the bench, he could sit down and cut through the leather strap binding his ankles. Once he could walk, he could find someone to free his hands.
Taking a little jump backward in the direction of where he thought the bench was, the back of his legs came in contact with nothing but thin air. He was still a little disoriented, but perhaps McRandall had moved the bench? He took one more little jump backwards and then another larger one, only to drop the knife as he plunged backward, bringing down the privacy curtain that hid the chamber pot, which overturned contents he was now lying in.
GMcB: (angry and frustrated) Fv-ck! Fv-ck! Fv-ck!
Although the curtain had broken his fall, he was now drenched with urine and thinking that matters couldn't get worse. But if there was a bright side to this whole horrible nightmare he was living, he rationalized that it indeed could have been worse, had the contents of the chamber pot been more of the solid variety. Well now he would have to find the knife again and figure out how to get up without the use of his hands. This was perhaps one way staying in shape with yoga and being pounds lighter for this movie coming up, if he was ever to return to his world, that was, was going to pay off.
He easily brought himself into a sitting position. Bringing his bound wrists down to the floor on his right side and letting his elbows drop to the floor, he was able to get on all fours and, with some effort, push himself to a standing position.
Once standing he remembered he hadn't looked for the knife.
GMcB: This is a test, isna it God? Ah know ah shoulda spent less oan that bluidy mirror an' given' some o' it tae that homeless shelter, eh?
He felt like crying, the frustration was so strong.
Crouching down and getting on his knees again, he starts carefully feeling for the knife. Luckily, this time he came upon the handle quite quickly, picking it up and as he moved forward on all fours, banged his head on the bench he was looking for.
Laying his arms, elbows down, across the bench, he pushes himself up. Turning around, he sits down on the solidness of the bench and takes a deep breath.
By this time his already abraded knees were raw and stinging furiously and he was shivering with cold from being wet.
GMcB: (grumbling) No one is ever goin' tae believe this *beep*
Reaching down carefully, knife securely in his right hand, he starts cutting through the bond around his ankles, freeing them with a few strokes.
GMcB: Whew! Now if ah kin figure oot....
Standing up and walking to where he thinks the table is, he holds the knife towards his body, blade up and with a very light pressure against it, he manages to cut the strap around his wrists without cutting into his flesh.
GMcB: (sighing in satisfaction) Okay, God or whatever ah'm tae call ye, ah owe ye one.
Feeling his way to the wall, he flings open the shutters and thanks to a three quarter moon, he is able to see the room and ascertain there is no one else there with him.
GMcB: Well ma arse is about the only thing that isna sore. Ah wonder where that screw loose idiot went to? (moving towards the door) If ah ever run intae him again, ah'm goin' tae show him what real pain is, an' he isna goin' tae enjoy it either.
Putting his hand on his chin.
GMcB: Hmmm. Whare have ah heard that line before?
Bolting the door securely and putting the big knife on the table next to the bed, he strips Jamie's urine soaked clothes off and plunks down on the straw filled mattress, groaning. Anything more can wait until daylight.
He turns and smells the bedding with distaste and shivers.
GMcB: Ah naiver in ma life thought ah'd say this but....Scotland stinks! ....Big time!
Elvaino: Now what?
Siegelson: (laughing) You remember the comment Gerry made after The Hangover premiere?
Elvaino: How can I forget? I laughed my ass off when I read it.
Siegelson: Well my assistant was checking out some of the fan sites for feedback the other day and she stumbled onto one who was having a fundraiser. Digging a little deeper, she discovered that one of the fans had knit these little things she called the "Gerry Butler Cock Cozy" in the shape of a chicken and was selling them on e-bay, and apparently making a killing too.
Elvaino starts laughing uncontrollably.
Siegelson: (grinning) And you haven't heard the worst of it yet. Her pitch was "For the Gerry Butler fan who has everything, this is the one item your significant other can wear to turn you ON! After all, every cock needs a chicken!"
Elvaino: Oh my God. Where do these women get these ideas? Can you imagine a bunch of grown men running around naked wearing knitted chickens on their pecker?
Siegelson: From Gerry, apparently. (laughs) And you'll never believe what charity the proceeds are going to?
Elvaino: Save The Chicken...Buy a Cozy?
Siegelson: (with a straight face) Gerry's Herd: Goats for Appalachia.
Elvaino: (laughing) Even when he's not here, the man is funny. I wonder where the hell he is?
Siegelson: Hopefully keeping his pants on and staying out of trouble.
Elvaino: Well, this morning when I checked the news headlines on my laptop I saw the headline "Star's Strange Activity Stuns Scientist" and actually clicked on it, thinking they might be talking about Gerry.
Allaine: (laughing) And they weren't?
Elvaino: Naaah, it was about a shrinking star in the Orion constellation.
Hollywood TMZ Headquarters
 |
| "Let's bring out the big guns." |
Misc.Pap: Hey Harley, there are some serious rumors floating around that Gerard Butler has disappeared. He hasn't been seen out at any of the clubs lately and we've got all the usual spots covered.
Harley Levine: I wonder if he's gotten tired of our little piece on him and is taking extra measures to avoid us?
Misc. Pap: No, seriously. The rumor mill at IMDb and the fan sites have been going crazy trying to dig him up. If those people can't find him, no one can. His management is not commenting.
Harley Levine: Okay. We may have to outsource this. Let's bring out the big guns. If she can't track him down, no one can.
Scotland
Late that night Gerremy McButler awakened in the dark, still lying over the table with his hands and feet bound. He was disoriented and freezing his arse off, literally. His hands and feet were numb and his back ached. As the situation he was in slowly came back to him, he wondered where the crazy dragoon was?
His arse was so cold, he couldn't tell whether anything had happened to him or not, but he was still alive and that was something, under the circumstances.
Trying to piece together what had happened he realized he had drunk the cup with the Ambien and that was the last he remembered.
He turned his head to the other side with difficulty, as his neck was stiff. Luckily, though numb, his hands were tied in front of him. He tried to straighten up and finally managed to do so with some difficulty. Opening and closing his fists, he tried to work some blood back into his fingers. After a few minutes he remembered the last thing McRandall had done was slam the big knife, point first, into the table a few inches from his head to scare him. If he could find it in the dark he could try to cut his bonds loose, hopefully without cutting himself and bleeding to death. Groping around in the dark and careful not to move lest he fall over, his hands found the blade end of the knife first and felt it slice into one of his fingers.
GMcB: Ouch! Damn it!
Carefully sliding up the blade, he was able to put his hands over the hilt and using all his strength, pull it out.
His wrists were bound so tightly, there was no way to cut through his bonds, but at the angle he was holding the knife, if he could find the bench, he could sit down and cut through the leather strap binding his ankles. Once he could walk, he could find someone to free his hands.
Taking a little jump backward in the direction of where he thought the bench was, the back of his legs came in contact with nothing but thin air. He was still a little disoriented, but perhaps McRandall had moved the bench? He took one more little jump backwards and then another larger one, only to drop the knife as he plunged backward, bringing down the privacy curtain that hid the chamber pot, which overturned contents he was now lying in.
GMcB: (angry and frustrated) Fv-ck! Fv-ck! Fv-ck!
Although the curtain had broken his fall, he was now drenched with urine and thinking that matters couldn't get worse. But if there was a bright side to this whole horrible nightmare he was living, he rationalized that it indeed could have been worse, had the contents of the chamber pot been more of the solid variety. Well now he would have to find the knife again and figure out how to get up without the use of his hands. This was perhaps one way staying in shape with yoga and being pounds lighter for this movie coming up, if he was ever to return to his world, that was, was going to pay off.
He easily brought himself into a sitting position. Bringing his bound wrists down to the floor on his right side and letting his elbows drop to the floor, he was able to get on all fours and, with some effort, push himself to a standing position.
Once standing he remembered he hadn't looked for the knife.
GMcB: This is a test, isna it God? Ah know ah shoulda spent less oan that bluidy mirror an' given' some o' it tae that homeless shelter, eh?
He felt like crying, the frustration was so strong.
Crouching down and getting on his knees again, he starts carefully feeling for the knife. Luckily, this time he came upon the handle quite quickly, picking it up and as he moved forward on all fours, banged his head on the bench he was looking for.
Laying his arms, elbows down, across the bench, he pushes himself up. Turning around, he sits down on the solidness of the bench and takes a deep breath.
By this time his already abraded knees were raw and stinging furiously and he was shivering with cold from being wet.
GMcB: (grumbling) No one is ever goin' tae believe this *beep*
Reaching down carefully, knife securely in his right hand, he starts cutting through the bond around his ankles, freeing them with a few strokes.
GMcB: Whew! Now if ah kin figure oot....
Standing up and walking to where he thinks the table is, he holds the knife towards his body, blade up and with a very light pressure against it, he manages to cut the strap around his wrists without cutting into his flesh.
GMcB: (sighing in satisfaction) Okay, God or whatever ah'm tae call ye, ah owe ye one.
Feeling his way to the wall, he flings open the shutters and thanks to a three quarter moon, he is able to see the room and ascertain there is no one else there with him.
GMcB: Well ma arse is about the only thing that isna sore. Ah wonder where that screw loose idiot went to? (moving towards the door) If ah ever run intae him again, ah'm goin' tae show him what real pain is, an' he isna goin' tae enjoy it either.
Putting his hand on his chin.
GMcB: Hmmm. Whare have ah heard that line before?
Bolting the door securely and putting the big knife on the table next to the bed, he strips Jamie's urine soaked clothes off and plunks down on the straw filled mattress, groaning. Anything more can wait until daylight.
He turns and smells the bedding with distaste and shivers.
GMcB: Ah naiver in ma life thought ah'd say this but....Scotland stinks! ....Big time!
Next: McRandall Does Manhattan!
Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.
Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate
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