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Deacon James: Terrible Things - the grand finale :iconstr8tjkt:Str8tjkt 11 10
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Deacon James: Terrible Things, part one :iconstr8tjkt:Str8tjkt 18 19

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DEAR DEVIANT ART:  Please stop trying to send me back to your fancy-schmancy nightmare version. I am quite happy here with the hospital-green walls. Thank you.
Thank goodness going back to the "old site" was an option! The new one is pretty, but they almost complicated it beyond my effective use!
Good news, everyone! I managed to install links at the end of each installment, to sorta streamline the reading experience! Many thanks to RooLovesTheDutch for helping an old geezer figure how to make that happen!

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This content is intended for mature audiences.

It didn't take long. There were only five of them, including the captain, and it was obvious 
that they were primarily crewmen, working at a crew's level of security, caught in that sort
of “half-light” world between DeVille's darker business universe and his more public leisure-
and-pleasure.

I took the first one coming through the darkened saloon. He was silhouetted against the re-
flected light from the mirror behind the bar, and even in the dark, the slug caught him in
the eye. I was shooting for between his top lip and his nose – there, it goes straight through
and blows out the cerebellum. It's like just turning off a switch. They feel nothing, it hap-
pens too fast. He dropped like someone had cut his strings.
I said I don't like guns, not that I didn't know how to use 'em. I pocketed his Glock 9, and caught the next two coming down the stairs from the upper deck.
The first one dropped fine, but had the bad sportsmanship to fall right on top of me, which
lit up my wound and forced me to drop the .45. I repaid him by using his body as a shield
while the fucker behind him fired into his back. I pulled the Glock, returned fire, and that
was all of that.
I got to the top of the stairs, and there was no Man Number 4 that I could find – I thought
he must have jumped ship, which was probably the wisest decision he'd made in a couple weeks.
From there, I made my way to the bridge, where I found the captain and Man Number 4, not so
wise as all that, after all.

They stood with their backs to me, Engelhorn at the wheel, Number 4 monitoring the instruments.
Are you two the skeleton crew we hear so much about?”

To their credit, neither of them flinched. The slim, older man straightened his shoulders and
turned to face me, hands raised. “Mr. Penney, I believe?”

“Oh, you
better believe, Cap'n – you two have one last chance to ditch this tub, or dead or
alive, you go down with it.”

“Mr. Penney, as captain, I can't – ”
Yeah, yeah, can't abandon ship, I've heard all that before. I'm telling you, you don't have
to worry about that storm,
you have to worry about me. It's funny, but I still had a couple
o' fucks, until one of you assholes shot me – this is the end of the movie for this vessel.
Now, where's DeVille and what does he have in those goddamn crates?”

“I don't – ”
I fired into the back of Number 4's head, and brought my eyes back to Englehorn.I DON'T KNOW! I'm just the captain of his fucking yacht, he doesn't tell me everything about
his business – private or otherwise!”


“Where is he and where are the crates?”

“I don't kn... The crates are in the engine room, I don't know where Mr. DeVille is!”
Just cut 'n' run on ya, huh? That is SO LIKE him, isn't it?” He didn't know how to answer that one, just stood there, sweating bullets and nibbling his
mustache with his lower lip.
Right,” I said, tired of not getting many answers. “Get a life vest, grab a float, and get
over the side. You can probably catch up with the rest of your crew. If or when you get
picked up, all you know is that you were attacked by pirates.”
In these waters?!” I shrugged. “Well, they ain't all on the Spanish Main, these days, asshole, they've expanded
their territory. You fought, but had to make an escape. Mr. DeVille was killed by those
monsters. That's all you know about it. Right?”

He nodded vigorously. “Absolutely, sir.”
I winked at him. “That's why you're the captain. Now take me to the engine room.” He turned
to switch off the engines, but I stopped him. “Leave those running – you'll wanna let this
thing get as far from shore as possible. Trust me.”
He took me as far as the crew deck, the Glock pressing hard into his spine, before I asked
which way to turn at the foot of the stairs; I get turned around on boats. He told me and I
told him to run. He did, and I fired above his head to see if he could run a little faster –
turns out, he could. He was in pretty good shape for a geezer.
I descended, made my turn, and soon found myself in the engine room. Anton was standing over one of the opened crates, holding a damn revolving-cylinder grenade
launcher. And giggling. He was actually giggling. Then, he glanced up at me, hauling the
business end around to cover me.

“As you can see, your, aaah, your reputation preceeds you. Heh.”

“You said that before.”

“So I did! Heh-heh. Sorry, I've had a lot on my mind. Thing is, um, this is a
prime example
of why you should always do your own packing. Y'see, I have this amazing weapon... but it
isn't loaded. And I don't know which box the grenades are in. Hahahahaaaaa – isn't that a
scream, Clyde? I mean, would you believe it?!”

“Your reputation preceeds you, too, Anton, so no – not in a million years.”

“Ah. Well. I suppose that's on me.” His face hardened and he fired.

I was already on my way to the floor, and the grenade flew past me, overhead. I had the Glock
up and caught him three times in the chest, high and to his right. He dropped the grenade
launcher and fell back, toward the engines. I crawled forward on my elbows while counting.
By the time I reached DeVille, there was a blast behind me and a wave of warm air that rushed
up my legs to the back of my head.

I stood, cursing my own wounds, and glanced back the way I'd come – the stairs, or ladder or
whatever the swabbies call it, was still intact, it looked like, but farther along was in
rough shape. What the fuck did he have in those grenades? Then I remembered more of our con-
versation in the warehouse office: phosphorous. Motherfucker.
I lurched over to DeVille. The Glock must have been loaded with hollow-point rounds – they
make a pretty good hole going in, but coming out the back, they leave one the size of a grape-
fruit. I hadn't checked the other men I'd put down, but blood was pouring out of his wound and
his mouth. He wasn't going to make it, but I didn't trust the son of a bitch even to die,
without a little extra help.

I helped.
He struggled weakly as I dragged him into the engine room proper and propped him up against
the fuel intake lines. I found zip-ties in my coat pockets and tied him to the lines. I
thought it a shame to waste a perfectly good brick of C4 – I mean, it wasn't very
big, but
then neither was I, now, and look at all the shit
I could fuck up. And I wanted Anton DeVille
out for keeps. I zip-tied it to DeVille's beltbuckle, then attached and set the detonator.
While I worked, his eyes fluttered open. He spat blood in my face.

“Motherfucker,” he wheezed; definitely punctured a lung.
I let it run down and drip onto my shirt, laughing softly. “That's funny, Anton – what kind
of fucked up creature do
you have to be, when a creep like me thinks the world would be a
better place without you?” I whipped the Glock's barrel across his face a few times.

“I'll see you in Hell, Clyde,” he gurgled through split lips and broken teeth.
I would have expected better than clichés from you, at the end. But yeah. Probably,” I
grunted, standing. “Mention my name when you get there, maybe you'll get a better table.”
I took the stairs two at a time. There was one lifeboat left. I almost made it in, when the
C4 went up. The yacht lurched and rocked, dropping the lifeboat without me. Better and better
– I might have caught up with it, if there weren't a thunderstorm in full swing, and the
yacht under me wasn't sinking fast and ready to suck me down with it. I bolted as fast as I
could for the forward bow – I was pretty sure it would go down last.
I stood there, watching the lightning and listening to the creaks and groans. The sizzle and
roar of a fairly large, burning sea vessel, and thinking it was time, time for all of this to
come to a close. I'd started the day in a straitjacket and muzzle, and here I was, shot, most
my hair singed down to about an inch and a half, on my way to a watery grave – just like
Deacon. If I couldn't do better than
THIS... Okay, I'd saved a couple teenage kinksters, but
it was me who helped get 'em in this situation. Maybe I should have gone to Amsterdam and
seen which got me first – the pancreatic cancer or the morphine. But that would've left
DeVille, wouldn't it.

I'd done a lot of shit, in my day. Clyde had, anyway. There was a lot to account for, but
maybe taking down DeVille would pay for some of it. Enough of it. But I was remembering more
and more about Clyde, and not so much about Deacon. Which one was I, now? Clyde? Deacon? Both?
Neither? Was I some weird conglomoration of them both? Would I ever be Deacon James again? Was this
what Clyde Penney was like? Doing those terrible things so
gleefully – because, God help me,
there was a part of me, the Clyde part, who
enjoyed committing these horrors. Even when trying
to work out some manner of redemption. And afterward, remorse and melancholy, like the Walrus
and the Carpenter, weeping bitter tears after having eaten all those poor little oysters...
I felt through my coat pockets, found a pack of cigarettes, and realized I'd never get one
lit in the downpour. Shit. Yeah – it was definitely time. Closing time. Fuck it.
I was about to dive off the bow, but the yacht gave up one more explosion that blasted me out
and into the storm-pummeled waters just outside of Ambrose Bay, a little bit north of
St. Sebastian.
*********************************************************************************************
I dreamed, I think.

It was strange. I was sinking, facing half toward the surface, and there was a bright light.
Below me and to the side, I could see the yacht, the
S.S. Nostromo, laughably named by that
ego-driven, megalomaniacal, villainous pederast, drifting deeper, the fires still burning from
all the phosphorous, drawing me down behind it. If you've never seen a sinking ship, already
underwater, yet still burning away within, let me tell you: it's a terrifying sight. It's a
vision of Hell.
Then, there was a shadow, something big, between me and the light above. It plunged toward me.
Hell below me, with DeVille waiting, now the Angel of Death coming to keep me company on the
way, darkness wrapping around me...

And then, as suddenly as I'd found myself in that alley, which was my first conscious memory,
I was in a bed, in a room with the shades drawn, the only light from a bedside table. Not the
same room or bed I'd awoken strapped into. This was a queen-size bed with a just-firm-enough-
to-be-comfortable mattress. The more I came awake, the more I recognized it: it was the
master bedroom in my penthouse apartment, back at the Project, sparsely furnished, a few
framed prints and posters on the walls, a dresser, a dressing table, one door for the master
bathroom, one for the closet, and one more to the rest of the apartment. Chopin's nocturnes
were coming softly from hidden speakers, and there was an aroma in the air of something rich
and succulent and a little spicy.
I tried to stretch and made another discovery: I was back in the straitjacket. A soft snore from my bedside drew my attention: Brent was collapsed in the chair from my
office, asleep. I managed to get my gummy lips apart and croaked, “Hey – you.”
He was awake in an instant, as though he'd never been asleep. If I knew how to do that, I
wasn't aware of it, and certainly hadn't done so, that I could recall, and I have to say I
was kinda envious.
He pulled the chair closer to the bedside and leaned in. “How are you feeling? Do you need
anything?”

“Kinda beat up – everything hurts. My chest, my shoulder, my neck, my back... I could use a
few answers, now. And a good, stiff vodka tonic would be very,
very welcome. And, er, if you
don't mind my asking, um... What's with the 'jacket? Has my usefulness come to an end so soon?”
There was the trademark raised eyebrow. “Still a smartass. Vodka tonic? Seriously?”
Pretty sure the nanoids can handle it. And, not to toot my own horn, but I think I've earned
it...”
His expression of wry amusement softened, then. He leaned in and kissed me, soft and warm,
but a little hesitant, like he didn't want to force anything more, but would be ready, if it
somehow occurred in our discussions, later. Then he disappeared for a few minutes and returned
with a pint glass full of vodka, tonic, and ice, with a couple wedges of lime perched on the
rim, and a bendy-straw. I tried to scootch up, and he quickly set the glass on the bedside
table and lifted me forward, stacking the pillows behind me. He sat on the side of the bed
and held the glass for me, while I tried to prevent myself from draining it.
Coming up for air, I asked, again, “So, what's with the straitjacket?”

He took a drink for himself, and said, “Okay – two reasons for that. First, that shot in your
shoulder cracked your collarbone, and Ellie wanted to set it, to make things a little easier
and faster for the nanoids. Nothing says 'Party!' like breaking and resetting a bone. So, we
needed to immobilise your left arm for a couple days.”

“Okay, noted. But they make strappy, brace-y stuff for exactly that.”

“They certainly do,” he nodded, “However,
you are a restless sleeper, and they didn't want
you taking it off in your sleep. This seemed to kill two birds with one stone. Reason two was,
we weren't sure who was gonna wake up. Besides, you look adorable and
hot like that, so you
shouldn't complain.”

“Of course not,” I grumbled, “After all – you heff vays uff makink me not-talk.”

He nodded, setting the glass aside. “And here comes one of them, now...”
He leaned in, close – like, really close, stretching out on top of me – and my mouth disap-
peared under his. I have no idea how long it went on – I didn't care then, and I don't care
now – but it took me to a place that his other kisses hadn't, and I liked it. It took me to a
place where it was just the pair of us in the whole wide world, and for the first time I can
remember, the first time, certainly, since waking up in the middle of smashing Roger Rank,
that I felt...
Peace.

I know how it sounds to the cynics, out there, but let me say this: Fuck you. While he was
kissing me, like that, I felt safe, secure, wanted, desired, possessed... Loved, maybe? If it
ever stopped, it would be too soon; if it never stopped, well, that would be fine by me. When it broke, I caught my breath in a gasp, opened my eyes, and said, “Wow – I got an idea
that you
reeeeally like this setup.”

He thrust his hips into me and wiggled his eyebrows. “
I got an idea that I'm not alone in that.” Stoopid penis,” I grumbled. “Can't even keep a secret.”

“Not from
me, Mister. Not ever again.”

That puzzled me. “What – ” but he cut me off with another kiss. It didn't take me to That
Place, but it was nice, and it shut me up, which last is almost a superpower, in itself. Then,
he pulled himself up and sat where my lap would be, straddling me, eyes locked with mine.
Eventually, he said, “What happened? What do you remember? I've heard Rudy's and Sheldon –
okay,
Sharky's end of it. And thanks, by the way, for scaring the shit out of them in that
lifeboat. You even scared Blossom, for chrissakes!”
Oh, no – not me. Clyde Penney had a little breakthrough,” I said. Then I gave him a rundown
of everything that happened after Blossom and the guys got away, right up to getting blasted
into the bay and nearly devoured by the burning, sinking wreck of the yacht.
Finally, I said,
“Okay, Mr. Brent – your turn...”

They were in the helicopter, picking up the boys, Blossom, and the two gunsels, when the
first blast blew out the rear starboard “corner” of the yacht. Blossom gasped, and Rudy had
a fit – “Deacon! Unca Wally, Deacon's still on there!” Gunner and Dutch waved them on to go
get me, while they stayed in the lifeboat – of course, when they went back, the lifeboat was
gone, cheap gangsters and all. They circled the sinking wreck, looking for me, and somehow,
through the rain and storm, Sharky had spotted me, silhouetted by the burning wreck beneath
me, and the searchlight held the scene. Blossom snatched up the rescue vest, hooked it to
the cable and dove into the water after me. I was only remotely conscious, and the nanoids
were working overtime to keep me oxygenated, but Blossom finally got the rescue vest buckled
around me; Brent winched the pair of us back up to the helicopter. The Coast Guard showed up
shortly thereafter, rescued the surviving crew and captain, who told a tale of modern piracy
that would have left Robert Louis Stevenson gasping. Dutch and Gunner were nowhere to be found.
Good on 'em, I thought. I just hoped their next gig wouldn't bring them into my path, or that
of anyone remotely like DeVille. They'd be better off collecting for local bookies.

“Look,” I said, “Give 'im a good screening and interrogation, but see can we do something for
Englehorn. I don't make him for a bad guy, he was just uninformed, like damn near everyone
else who wasn't part of that circle. Working in the dark, kind of, which I know something
about, ahem.”
Brent looked at me with that sort of half-smile you see on people you've somehow surprised a
little, shown them something unexpected but welcome. “I'll look into it.”
Cool – so, helicopter rescue, then what?”
He shrugged. “Then, we brought you back here. Xiro and Ellie wrung the water out of you and
gave you a thorough going over, decided that the nanoids were working very hard at their job,
but accomplishing it just fine without their help, and decided that, between the nanoids'
healing activity, and you getting beaten up, shot up, burned up, blown up, and nearly drowned,
all on a double whiskey and a plate of lasagna, you were just exhausted, so we should let you
sleep it off. And for the past day and a half or so, that's what you've been up to.”

“So, no real danger, then, just dog-ass tired.”
Pretty much.”

“Uh-huh. Well, then, Facilitator Brent, why are you in here playing nurse, waking me up with
your adorable snores, instead of facilitating this facility? Huh? Answer me that!”
One day, he was going to roll his eyes like that, and they would never come down again. But
this was not that day. “I can still use the muzzle, y'know...”
I squirmed, mostly playfully – at this point, between the straitjacket and Brent sitting
quite comfortably on my thighs, all
I could do was wiggle my toes. “Big bully,” I pouted,
that's what you are...” Somehow, he managed to conceal any sign that he was wounded by my accusation. “Uh-huh,” he
said, “I'm a deeply wicked person. This is a character flaw I grieve over, late, on winter
nights.”
We sat there, smoldering at each other, for a bit – until I finally lost the stare-down and
looked away. I had a fair idea where the rest of my evening was headed.
I cleared my throat and said, “The boys – Rudy and Sharky – where are they at, in all this?” Brent chuckled. “Ah, the boys... You managed to get them back in time for breakfast, as
promised. Mr. Blossom stuffed us full of waffles, strawberries, and whipped cream, with link
sausages and bacon. DeVille managed to ferret out that I had a 'nephew', and getting control
of
him would give him control over me. He didn't try to take Archie and Jeanie because that
would have been too high-profile – as long as he had Rudy, he could keep all three of us quiet.
So efficient, huh?”

“He's like that,” I nodded. “Well... he
was like that.”

“Uh-huh. His death at the hand of a mysterious pirate band is all over the news, by the way.
Pirates? International industrialist and tech magnate? Killed by
pirates?” I scowled. “Short notice and we were on a fucking boat. If you could top that, under the cir-
cumstances, I'd be delighted to hear your 'Official Explanation'. Now about the boys...”

Brent shrugged. “Sharky's story checks out, with other info I was able to come up with. He
and Rudy were notably close friends at school. Rank was sent in to see if one could be used
as a lure for the other, found out that they both have an interest in kink – ”
Rudy takes after his old man in a number of ways,” I chuckled. He ran a hand across his forehead. “Someone's lip is long overdue for a zipper. You wanna hear
this or not?”
You get mean when you drink,” I grumbled. “Speaking of which...” I pointed my chin at the
glass on the nightstand and made kissy-lips at it. Brent, being the actual Devil, reached,
picked it up, and took a good, long sip, before holding it for me. I finished it off and said,
“Please, continue.”

“Rank conned him into bringing a bunch of kids into that little shindig and promised him
plenty of, er, 'alone time' with Rudy. Rudy was just along for the ride. We've had some of
our people talk to the authorities and to the victims, and squared that away, so there won't
be any legal consequences for him – this time. He'll have to sort it out with the people he
invited, though, so not entirely off the hook.”
He can swing it,” I replied. “He's shrewd, even if his life decisions aren't always top
shelf. I was really prepared to not like him – but he's tough and resourceful... and he really
seems to care about Rudy. And Rudy seems pretty fond of him. I think they'll be able to
balance each other out rather nicely...”
Then, it occurred to me that I had no idea what time it was or even what day it was. “Holy
shit,” I exclaimed, “Where are they? What about their parents?! What about – ”
Relax,” Brent told me, pushing me back against the pillows. “The guys are fine, their parents
are fine – in fact, they're kind of relieved. I called and left a message with both sets of
parents, right after you left for the hospital, and told them I was taking Rudy and his buddy
for the weekend, and if there were any problems, get back with me, otherwise I'd have them at
school in time for class, Monday morning. Archie and Jeanie were fine with it, I haven't taken
Rudy for a weekend in a while; the Plotnicks are... lovely people, but a little befuddled –
they just wanted to make sure that it wasn't any trouble, and sorta clumsily make sure that
their kid wasn't getting himself into trouble or something shady. Can you imagine.” He didn't
hide his smile very well.
Heaven forefend,” I said in pretend shock and outrage. “So, where are they now? And what
time is it?”
It's Sunday evening, and the boys...” Then he chuckled and smiled a smile that made me both
nervous and a bit tingly.
Well,” he continued, “after getting the official debriefing out of the way, they got an
earful about kink play, not playing with people they didn't know and who they didn't have any
common friends with, and important rules, like 'Never get yourself into something you can't
get yourself out of,' at least at first, and especially with someone you don't trust with
your life, because that's exactly what they were trusting people with, and like that, and
definitely not while they're still minors. Once they're eighteen, they can do what they want,
but until then, if they want a safe place to play tie-up games, they should come here...”

“Oh. Oh, Brent. What did you do?”

He gave me a face so innocent, I actually would have believed it, under other circumstances.
“I just gave them what they wanted,” he said with a shrug, as if to say,
Isn't it obvious?Ahem. Brent...?”

He dug his mobile out of his back pocket, made his fingertips dance over the screen for a
moment, then held it so I could watch the video he'd taken. A wobbly-cam of the outside of
the door of one of the high-securty observation units – half a dozen featureless, soundproof,
padded rooms, down on the Security level. The image wavered up the door to the observation
window. A hand (clearly Brent's) shifted the sliding coverplate, and we zoomed in for a look
at the interior. Under a dim ceiling light, Sharky and Rudy were curled up together, each in
a rather snug straitjacket and a locking muzzle. Rudy's head was on Sharky's shoulder, while
Sharky leaned his head on the top of Rudy's. They appeared to be asleep.

I was gobsmacked. “I was absolutely not expecting you, of all people, to ever show me any-
thing, movie, photo, whatever, that was simultaneously so kinky and so adorable. I'm not sure
whether this is a punishment or a reward, but either way, it serves 'em right. How long are
you gonna keep 'em?”

Brent slid forward, once more stretching out on top of me, his forearms crossed behind my
neck, his face nose-to-nose with mine. “Not much longer. Mr. Blossom made some of his grand-
mother's goulash and homemade noodles – it's warming in the oven. They'll be hungry, and
they'll probably need some rest, before I take them to school, tomorrow morning.”
Mmmm. Frankly, I'm feeling a little peckish, myself, and that sounds and smells like Heaven.
So, um... how long are you gonna keep
me?” I asked, not quite expecting the answer I got. He kissed me, again, then before I realized it, his hand was tightly covering my mouth. He
looked at me affectionately, and said, “Right now, I'm thinking pretty much forever.”
Mmmph?!”Shaddap. You're mine, now. All mine. For years, I've watched you going out there and saving
the world and being a shady force for good, and you always telling me, 'Last one, babe – this
has to be done, but I swear, this is it...' And sometimes, not even a week later, you'd disap-
pear again, and I'd hear nothing –
nothing – until you were ready to call in one of the Project
protocols. And afterward, the same old 'Last one, babe...' Lather, rinse, repeat.

“I'm not doing that anymore. You belong to
me. You want to know who you are, now? Who your
people are, any family – we'll find out. Together. Now, though,
we're your family – me,
Blossom, the Project... Hell, even Rudy's calling you 'Unca Deacon', now. He and Sharky and
Blossom all told me how you claimed them, on the yacht – '
your people'. So I'm claiming you
you are my property. At the bottom of it all... When you breathe in... When you breathe out...
That timeless moment between the two,... remember: you're
mine, now. And I'm not letting you
go again. Ever.” He removed his hand and resumed kissing me.
When I had control of my mouth back, I tried, “But I – ”

“Quiet, you,” he said, clapping a hand tightly over my mouth again. “You don't get a vote. I
know perfectly well, I can't keep you locked up like this
all the time. You'll still go
charging out there, into the darkness, doing good by doing bad – that's just part of who you
are, I can't change that, I wouldn't, because then you wouldn't be my Deacon. But that doesn't
mean I can't keep you as close to home, and me, as possible, when the world's
not about to
come crashing down. So, here's how it's going to be for a while:

“You're gonna keep your lip buttoned unless and until I say. I'll go get you a tray with a
big plate of goulash and noodles, and oh, lord, he made some really amazing, crusty bread –
and another vodka tonic, if you like. And I will feed you. And you will say
nothing. Under-
stood? If you behave, we'll talk about getting the 'jacket off you for a while; a little while,
anyway. But if you speak, dinner is immediately over, the muzzle goes on, the tray goes back,
and you stay right here while I go downstairs and get the boys. You'll miss breakfast, then
we'll try again at lunch to see if you can do as I tell you. If you miss three meals in a row,
you'll be staying where Rudy and Sharky are, now. I doubt it'll go that far, but if it does,
we'll go into those rules, then. Got all that?”

I squeaked behind his palm, nodding as well as I could, given the pressure of his hand.

He took his hand away. “Any last words?”

And I wanted to say,
I get it – I understand – and you're right. I don't remember all the
shitty things I've done to you, but I do know I've hurt you. And I want to make it up to you,
so yeah, okay, from here on, you're the Boss of Me. I'll do everything I can, anything you
want, for as long as it takes,
however long it takes. And when it's all done, when the slate's
cleared... if this is what it takes to stay with you...

I'm in. I still have questions, but they can wait. I'm in.

I'm yours.
But I didn't say that, not out loud. I just shook my head. Then I darted my head forward and
kissed
him, for a change, to see how he liked it. And apparently, he did.

Just to be on the safe side and make sure I even got as far as the tray, he opened the top
drawer of the nightstand, took out a rather large ballgag and some microfoam tape, strapped
the gag on (a little tightly, I thought), then made an “X” with the tape over that. He growled
low in his throat as he kissed me once more, over the tape, nibbling softly at my neck, just
under my jaw; then, satisfied, he went to get my dinner tray.
The goulash was delicious.
Deacon James will Return in:

Famous Monsters
Deacon James: Terrible Things - the grand finale
In which the story is resolved, even if all Our Hero's questions haven't quite been answered.

WARNING! WARNING! There are adult language and content in this series, including some "naughty" language, the occasional adult situation, mention of certain portions of the human anatomy, and so forth. There will be some smooching, M/M, M/F, F/F, but no descriptions of actual sexual intercourse, though some of that may crop up - I'm not a prude, but this is not, nor is it intended to be, porn. This is (I hope) a cracking good story for grown-ups with grown-up sensibilities. If ANY of that conflicts with what you consider Good Taste, you are welcome to run along and read something else. If you stick it out, though, I do hope you'll enjoy it. I have plans for Deacon and his friends (and enemies; sinister laugh goes here), and hope you all will enjoy those developments, as well.
Loading...

Mature Content

This content is intended for mature audiences.

Tracing the route I'd been brought back to the main deck, we managed to avoid being seen. The 
yacht seemed strangely empty, and I wondered how big the crew was and what they were busy
with. Given DeVille's roster of activities, it could be damn near anything.
Probably still
preparing for cast-off
, I hoped, but it felt more like wishful thinking. As it turned out, that was exactly what it was: we stepped out of the main saloon, and there
were no dock lights. I looked down the rail toward the rear of the boat, and saw the dock a
considerable distance away. Too far to swim for it, at least as far as I was personally
concerned. Further ahead of us, I heard the distant, cinematically-timed rumble of thunder.
I should have known. If you wanted to stay alive, let alone employed for very long, you did
everything you could to anticipate DeVille's desires, because, no fooling, he was
not a man
you wanted to see vexed. We had probably left the dock before I was even out of my coat.
Fuck,” I hissed, “Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck, FUCK!” I had more fucks ready, but hands grabbed
each of my arms, while another – two? – went over my mouth and I was pulled back into the
darkened main saloon, Rudy saying “Hush!” softly in one ear, while Sharky
shh-ed into the
other. I got my shit together and gently shook them away, as the sounds of footsteps and
familiar bickering came closer.
I dunno,” I heard Gunner grumbling, “I don't like it.”
Well, you don't have to like it, we just have to do it, now shut up and come on!”

“I don't mind the guarding, Dutch, but
kids? It ain't right! We done some pretty rotten shit,
over the years – ”

They stopped, and Dutch grabbed Gunner by the lapels. “Look, ya little gonnif, you know what
kinda stuff DeVille gets into, business-wise – d'ya wanna get deeper in any o'
that, or would
ya rather take a cushier job takin' care of those kids?!”
Well... I guess takin' care of the boys is a better way of lookin' at it...”

“Naturally!”

“But what about that other guy, that short fella everyone's so jumpy about?”
Dutch put his hands on his hips, “What, the one they think is Clyde Penney?”

“Yeah,
him! I heard about him, he's – he's a baaaad man!”

“Oh, stop – how can he be Penney? And even if he is, he's so goddamn muddled and the doc has
him so full o' Thorazine, by now, he doesn't know
who the fuck he is...” I turned to the two boys. “Go hide.”But we can help!” Sharky whispered back. “I bet I can take that dumpy guy!”And I bet I can take 'em both and I am not taking either of you back with fucking bullet-
holes
in you. What did I say about doing what I tell you?!” At that point, I realized that the conversation between Dutch and Gunner had stopped. “Just
find an empty cabin, lock yourselves in, and
stay there until I come get you, now go! I didn't turn, but I did hear them moving away. I also heard Sharky whispering about short
guys with something to prove, and I thought,
Maybe my life would be simpler, if I just handed
them over and went to work with DeVille...
Maybe yes, maybe no, but I was sure it would be
shorter.
They came around the corner into the saloon, guns drawn. I grabbed Dutch by the wrist of his
gun hand, pulled his arm under mine, and levered up; I could feel his elbow joint creak and
he fired off two shots. I was trying to dance him around until the gun faced his partner,
and then I saw the strangest thing: a boy was sailing past, like Peter Pan, in a picture-
perfect stag leap, then, at the last moment, his front leg extended, his rear leg folded
under him, and he hit Gunner directly in the stomach, knocking his gun out of his hands and
folding him up like a beach chair. He staggered back to the rail, almost went over the side,
then collapsed to the deck, trying desperately to get some air back into his body.

I looked at Dutch; Dutch looked at me. “Well,” I said, “DeVille did tell you he was a dancer.”
Then I finished levering his elbow until I heard a muffled
'snap'. He got one more shot off,
just by pain reflex, but to his credit, didn't scream. He was tougher than he looked.
I was about to head-butt him, but as I drew back to do it, a hard, red cylinder shot past my
head and right into Dutch's face. I heard the crunch of a breaking cheekbone, then let go as
he collapsed to the deck. Sharky pushed by me, still holding the fire extinguisher he'd found
God knows where, and growled at him, “Don't you
ever – ” he kicked Dutch in the chin “ – lay
a motherfucking
finger – ” another kick “ – on me or my friends again!”

What could I say? The kid was rough around the edges, but he had skills and a little style.
I reached down, scooped up the .45, and tossed it overboard.
Sharky wasn't pleased about that. “Are you out o' yer fuckin' mind?! I looked him right in the eye. “Yeah, kinda. Go help Rudy clobber the other one.” He looked me up and down, and decided I had given him sage advice. Biting the nose off a mad
scientist had evidently made an impression on him. He trotted over to stand beside Rudy.
Boy Wonder in da house!” Rudy preened a little at Sharky's praise. Gunner was still gasping and holding his stomach, waving the other in surrender. “Fins! I
quit! No more, please!”
I joined them. “Lifeboats. Where are they? Now.” He waved his hand toward the stern.How many?” He tried do draw breath and had a little more success. “Three on... this side... three... on
the other.”
Fine. Now, who else is on this tub? Any civilians? 'Unofficial passengers'?” He shook his head briskly. “Just the crew, some o' DeVille's guys, and us, here.” I nodded. “So far, so good. Any extra cargo you want to tell me about? Don't say 'none,'
'cause I know DeVille – he's a multi-tasker.”

He looked like he was really starting to sweat. “He's got a buncha crates, down below, but
I – I dunno what's in 'em.”

I gave him a very dark, squinty look. “Gunner – I think you're familiar with my work, and I
don't have time to do this gracefully. Or painlessly...”

“I swear! Hand t'God! I dunno, I'm just a watchdog, they don't
tell me, I don't wanna know,
it ain't my
business!Great,” I growled. “You have about ten seconds to get your pal, there, and get the fuck offa
this boat, or you go down with it – if you live long enough...”
I was standing with the stern at my back, still getting a little light from the dock. I could
see Gunner and the boys looking at me – and then they were looking
past me, as an enormous
shadow came between us and that little bit of light. Their eyes grew large, their faces pale.

I sighed. “Well, this is just fucking
perfect...” Before I could turn, a hand the size of a frying pan went over my mouth and a soggy tree
trunk of an arm circled my torso, pulling me back into a sopping wet wall of hard muscle.
No panics,” a familiar voice rumbled in my ear, “Is Blossom!”

I went limp with relief, then gently shook myself free. “Blossom! What the hell are
you doing
here?! He shrugged. “Mishtar Brent sess follow you from hozpital, in case you need helpings, 'coz
DeVille is nashty customer.”
Did he.”

“Oh, yass. And I think mebbe you got some plan, when they take you out of warehouse, but then
I get to dock, and Mishtar Brent, he call and sess 'Go to work, Blossom,' but boat sailing,
so Blossom swimming outs and climb anchor chain.”

I was stunned. “Well, where have you been?!”

He shrugged. “I am looking for
you! Hi, boys!” He waggled his fingers in a friendly greeting.
They looked at him as though they had never had a mountain walk up and speak to them before.
Wait, if you were following me, why didn't you go after the boys, when these two assholes
grabbed them?”

He shrugged again, as though it was obvious. “I dun
see dem. Iss dark, boys are quick, didden
know vass
right boys.” He was starting to sound a little frustrated and impatient. “You are
wanting some helps or – ”
DeVille's voice interrupted him, coming over the tannoy. “Clyyyyyde... I know you're out
there... We heard the gunshots, and I thought, aaaah, who else could it be...


I turned back to Blossom. “Some helps would be incredible – take the boys and get them into
a lifeboat, and get them the hell out of here.”

“What about
us?!” Gunner squeaked.What about you?! My job is to rescue them – you knew the job was dangerous when you took it,
Super Chicken, now get your buddy and scram. Blossom, if they get in your way, do whatever
you have to do, and make it really unpleasant.”

Blossom grinned his charming grin, and I think even
I went a little pale. To the boys, I said, “Go with Mr. Blossom, he'll get you back to shore, do everything he
tells you, you'll be fine...”

Sharky was still a bit incredulous, and I couldn't entirely blame him. “
His name is
'Blossom'?!Yes, Sheldon – is that a problem?” “Uuuh – not so much. Lead the way, Blossom...” Blossom scowled, put an arm around their shoulders, and made to lead them away to the
lifeboats...

It's not too late, Clyde – we can still be friends – partners...Wait,” I said. “This is DeVille's yacht. Mister Blossom, make sure there are no traps before
you do
anything with any of those lifeboats.” Behind me, I heard Gunner gulp, as he was dragging Dutch to a standing position and draping
Dutch's good arm across his shoulders. “You don't – d'ya really think he'd booby-trap his
own lifeboats?”

“It's been a while since I worked with him, so you probably know how he is, these days,
better than I do – what do
you think?” The little color in his face drained right out: he remembered the car radio. “Yeah. Yeah, you
check those goddamn lifeboats, and check 'em
good! Right – now, all of you, get the hell off this boat. I have some business to finish.” Rudy looked at me, worried. “But – what are you gonna do?” I looked at him and saw his father, but twenty years younger. He'd been wronged, his life
nearly altered irreparably; but he still respected life, cared about things like justice and
the law, and thought they should apply to
everyone, including people like DeVille. And I knew
he was right – they
should have. But I knew from my own experience that, with people like
Anton DeVille, they almost never did.

“Finish my fucking job.”
Blossom pulled the boys away, and I turned to go below. Then I froze. It was like I had a voice in my head – which, thanks to the nanoids I may have
actually had. Man or machines, I heard DeVille's voice played back, crystal clear, full
stereo, from a conversation we'd had not long ago at all:
Clyde, you disappoint me. Or Deacon, rather – Clyde would know that when I said, 'trap,' I fucking well meant 'trap'. Some people call it paranoia, I call it being perceptive and pre- pared. How could you not imagine that I would have Rank's hospital room wired for sound and vision? And when have you ever – ever! – known me to trust my employees enough that I wouldn't
do the same for every goddamn room in every goddamn place I set up shop?!”
WAIT!” I turned back toward the stern, toward Blossom and the boys. I trotted to them. Aaaaaaaaah, he gets it...” from the tannoy, this time, but the same, sly, cello-dipped-in-
honey.
Rudy and Sharky huddled a little closer to Blossom, who looked very unhappy. I hope you never
see Mr. Blossom looking
very unhappy. Usually, like now, that means he is furious and frigh-
tened, and when he's furious and frightened... well, some very unfortunate things are likely
to occur. He put his arms around the boys' shoulders, and that seemed to focus him, a bit,
and calm all three.
I poked my thumb at whatever speakers there were back there, and said, “Yeah – that. DeVille
is a huge paranoiac, among other anti-social diagnoses. He has cameras and microphones every-
where he's gonna be, he's been watching us pretty much since we got here.”
And rightly so, young man!” DeVille's voice rang from the tannoy. “Just look at what you've
cost me in the last twenty-four hours – a major source of income – several flunkies – never
mind that they were utterly expendable, so I guess you, aaah, saved me the time and trouble
of doing it myself, with some of them – but that cuts very little ice, my dear friend,
very
little ice, and now, you've taken out my medical specialist, and you are right this minute
TRYING TO MAKE AWAY WITH MY INSURANCE!”
He shut up for a second, and even the bay seemed to go silent. Well,” he finally resumed, “I have to hand it to you, Clyde – you've succeeded where many
have failed. You have made me... angry. Very...
very angry.” Dude,” Sharky whispered behind me, “And I thought you were a fuckin' lunatic!” I felt my face go slack. The pressure inside my head had returned, seemingly after eating a
can of spinach, because it wasn't taking “No” for an answer this time, it built, and built,
as a fever swept through my body. The breeze was picking up, turning into a solid wind, the
temperature dropping noticably. Threads of lightning cracked the sky down to the horizon,
ahead of us, and the thunder followed almost immediately, we were sailing right into a storm,
and so time was running out. And still the pressure continued to build, the fever blazed,
until I felt like I was going to explode, and then...
It all stopped. Not the oncoming storm – the fever, the pressure, the panic, they all just
evaporated and blew away on that salty-fishy wind, and I knew everything was going to be all
right,
better than all right, it was going to be fine. Because, now, if only for this fleet-
ing, useless moment, I knew who I was, and it wasn't Deacon James, not anymore. Now, I had
memories that weren't mine, skills I'd never trained in, even though they overlapped with
Deacon's. I wasn't Clyde Penney, Clyde was dead, and whatever they'd made of me, it wasn't
him – that's what they'd been afraid of, that they'd given a monster a place to fade the
heat, at least temporarily, but no: Clyde and Deacon had integrated, somehow. I had some of
his memories, I had some of his skills, no way of knowing how much of either, but I didn't
have his mind.
I had his rage.

His fury at life itself, at the love and kindness and opportunity he'd either been denied or
robbed of or fucked up on his own hook, and been punished for either way. There was a lot of
shit tangled up in there, but it all coalesced into one deadly, seething rattlesnake of mad-
ness and pain.

And
rage. There was no “Mr. Hyde”, lurking in there, that would have given it some remote form of iden-
tity – there was only a wrathful, howling monster who wanted the world to burn and had an
excellent place in mind to start.

“To be fair, kid” I growled, “you were right –
I AM...
I looked up at Blossom, Rudy, Sharky – even the two useless flunkies who weren't much more
than go-fers, to DeVille, fit only to kidnap a couple teenagers, one of whom had been wrapped
up nice and tight. They were looking at me right back. I don't know what they saw, but each
of them had gone pale as the light from the distant lightning.
István,” I rasped, softly, “Do you have a gun? A knife, even?” He shook his head, a motion so small, it looked more like a quiver; his eyes were very large
in his face. “No, I – no, sir.”
Fuck,” I said, through gritted teeth. You're whispering – that is extremely rude.”
You don't know what 'rude' is, Anton,” I called out, “But you're about to fucking find out.
I know you have men waiting between here and the lifeboats – if they're smart, they'll abandon
this tub and leave my people the hell alone; if they're not, they'll go down with it. You
wanted a talk with your old pal, Clyde? Well, ready or not –
here I come! Jesus Christ...” He hadn't meant me to hear that, but that's what you get when you sink a
lot of money into something you don't really know how to operate when you're panicking. Then,
it was,
“Clyde! You're back! I just knew this would finally be our special reunion! Why don't
you and your friends, aaah, come on up to the bridge, and we'll hammer this out over drinks?”
Because they don't want to be witnesses to the conversation you and I are gonna have, Anton
– Blossom, here, could probably stand it, but the kids are too young and these other two are
just too fucking soft and stupid. This little bit of intimacy is just for us, not Blossom,
not the boys, not your gunsels, and not your crew. I'm gonna take my people –
remember that,
Anton, they are
MY PEOPLE, now – and I'm gonna put them in a lifeboat, and they are gonna row
back home, nice and safe and snug and cozy,” I raised my voice, “
and if any one of your boys
gets in the way o' that, I shall kill
every one of those cocksuckers, DO YOU ALL HEAR ME?! No response from the tannoy, but I did hear sounds from the starboard side – lifeboats were
being manned. I heard a couple shots, but my guess was that they were a couple officers try-
ing to intervene, because the lifeboats continued to lower.

I turned, pointed at Gunner. “You – lifeboats. Lead. Now.” He nodded his head in much the
same fashion as Mr. Blossom had shaken his, a wide-eyed quiver. He dragged Dutch, who was
still pretty rummy from the pasting that Sharky had given him. “Blossom, go carry the skinny
one, or toss him overboard, I don't care. You kids, stay between me and Blossom, I'll cover
the rear...”

I got no lip from any of them. Gunner led the way, Blossom followed with Dutch draped over
his shoulder, and the boys huddled together ahead of me. The lifeboats weren't as far as I'd
worried they'd be. Gunner, Blossom, and Dutch got in and started scowering it for boobytraps.
I still heard a lot of scrambling on the other side of the boat. I got the boys and myself
down there, too – if the thing blew it wouldn't matter whether they were at ground zero or
back against the bulkhead – and I joined in the search.

The bomb was right where I would have put it. For all I knew, Penney had rigged the traps him-
self, at some point. DeVille and Penney hadn't been fucking around: a brick of C4 and a
detonator. It wasn't hard to find or remove, if you knew where to look and what to do about it.
That was when a shot rang out from the next deck up. I felt the slug pass right through the
upper part of my left trapezius muscle, near my neck – a flesh wound, but I felt like it
might have cracked my collar bone, at that angle. Whoever had taken the shot was good. Not
good
enough, but he was probably in a hurry. I pocketed the C4 bomb.

I pointed at Blossom and Gunner. “You and you – get this thing in the water and get it away.
You – Rudy – call your uncle, if you have any trouble getting back to the dock, he'll be able
to find you guys.”
He looked worried. Come to that, he looked terrified. “What are you gonna – ” I looked him right in the eye and he shrank back into Sharky, who put his arms around him.
Deacon's opinion of Sharky would have softened, but then Deacon was a romantic sap, whose
softness had gotten him into this fuck-fest.

“Well, son, I made a little promise, a minute ago, and being a man of my word, I'm gonna go
keep it. What am
I gonna do? Terrible things. See ya 'round. Blossom, Gunner, get 'em outta
here, before the storm breaks.”

Lightning flashed, closer, the thunder almost deafening, and the rain started coming down as
I hopped from the lifeboat to the main deck. I could hear the lifeboat dropping as I made my
way back to the spot where the dancer kid had nearly kicked Gunner overboard. In the heat of
the moment, I had forgotten something: I'd tossed Dutch's .45 over the side, but completely
flaked on Gunner's. Or maybe I'd planned on coming back for it. It was a complicated time,
for me. But I smiled, even as I ground my teeth against the pain in my neck and shoulder,
and made sure I had a round chambered. Oh, but it felt so right in my hand.

It was
good to be back.                                    To Be Continued
Deacon James: Terrible Things, part eight
In which Our Hero is simultaneously himself and not himself, and the situation becomes, if anything, even more dangerous for all parties concerned.

WARNING! WARNING! There are adult language and content in this series, including some "naughty" language, the occasional adult situation, mention of certain portions of the human anatomy, and so forth. There will be some smooching, M/M, M/F, F/F, but no descriptions of actual sexual intercourse, though some of that may crop up - I'm not a prude, but this is not, nor is it intended to be, porn. This is (I hope) a cracking good story for grown-ups with grown-up sensibilities. If ANY of that conflicts with what you consider Good Taste, you are welcome to run along and read something else. If you stick it out, though, I do hope you'll enjoy it. I have plans for Deacon and his friends (and enemies; sinister laugh goes here), and hope you all will enjoy those developments, as well.

The Grand Finalefav.me/dcshv3a
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:iconxtcgm:
xtcgm Featured By Owner Mar 10, 2019
Thanks for favouring "The Bidding Starts".
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Thank you for favouring The Basement.
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Thank you for the Llama and I wish you all the best for 2019
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thank you for the fave :3
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Thanks for the llama!

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No, no - thank you! :)
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Thank you for favouring Caught Speeding
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thank you for your watch :D
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Str8tjkt Featured By Owner Sep 23, 2018
Thank you, for all your very hot posts! I hope you'll have a look at the story I'm posting in installments, Terrible Things, when you have a chance, and let me know what you think!
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Thanks for watching. Sorry about your friend
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