Frank Klus - Azaleas Don't Bloom Here

The squad leader gleaned his yellowish rotting teeth, looking behind him to the trailing pointman, and then back up to Armstrong. “Pizzaro’s the name. Just like the conqueror.” His pointmen just guffawed. They sat comfortably on their bikes; their weapons sitting on their laps. Armstrong stood empty-handed in front of Pizzaro and about twenty feet in front of the forward pointman.

“Guess you’re probably saying to yourself, ‘but I didn’t see any bikes.’” More laughter. “We had the bikes in a van. We passed you a short while ago and got the bikes out. Then surprised the girl. Now, down to some business. Where’s Eugene?”

“Hand over Sandy, first,” Armstrong said, calmly.

Pizzaro smiled at him. “You’re in no position to make demands.” Then he looked around, grinning. He looked at his men, sitting comfortably on their bikes, rifles out, and hands on the trigger. Then he looked at unarmed Armstrong standing in the open, and the scared faces of those still in the car. “I could cut you down right where you stand.”

“Your men should have you on suicide watch.”

Pizzaro enjoyed that one, flashing his decayed teeth while squealing wheels moved into place. He didn’t know what was happening at first, but Armstrong gladly informed him. “You’ve been triangulated, Mr. Conqueror.”

Pizzaro wasn’t grinning. He was positively angry. He climbed off his bike abruptly, grabbing Sandy brusquely, holding her tight to his chest.

“What’s your plan, Armstrong? You shoot, you might hit the girl. Even if you miss her, my boys won’t. She’s a honey, isn’t she?” He caressed her breasts.

“Cut it out, Pizzaro. She’s more woman than you could ever handle.” Pizzaro’s men began howling.

“You want me to stop? Get me Eugene.”

“Can’t do that.”

“Suit yourself, Armstrong. The longer you take, the more fun for me.” Once again, his men laughed. Then he turned to them. “Anyone want to see a live sex act right here by the side of the road?” His pointmen shouted and yelled, “Do it, Sevi.”

Pizzaro just stared at Armstrong, flashing those rotting teeth as he grabbed the inside of Sandy’s left leg. Then he rubbed all the way up to her crotch. She looked up, her face red and angry.

“Stop!” cried Armstrong. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m getting ready to fuck the bitch.”

Armstrong wasn’t sure what to do. His men could easily take them out but Sandy would probably die. If there was any doubt Pizzaro flashed a blade and put it at her throat.

“Get me Eugene.”

“All right, but put the knife away.”

Pizzaro just grinned. “Okay.”

Armstrong walked back to Pamela’s car. “Where’s Eugene?”

“I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen. He took the Berretta you gave him from the glove compartment, and got out of the car. Then he ran into the woods. I don’t know what he’s planning. He didn’t say anything to me about it.”

“Damn. That fool wants to play hero. Christ, what a mess now. There’s no telling what that creep will do if I don’t come back with Eugene.”

“You mean you’d trade Gene for Sandy? What kind of deal is that?”

“Not trade. I won’t do that. I need to stall for time. My men will take those guys out when they can get a clear shot and when they can be assured of Sandy’s safety.”

“How will they know when she’s safe?”

“I can’t answer that. They’re pros. They’ll know.”

“What’s the holdup, Armstrong? You planning something? Of course you are. Well we got plans too.”

Armstrong came back to the spot he occupied before, sans Eugene Sulke. “He’s gone. I don’t know where he went.”

“He ran into the woods,” his rear pointman said.

“Ohhhhh, he wants to be a hero, methinks.” He turned around and his men were howling. “Is that true, Eugene?” turning to the woods. “You want to play hero? Rescue the señora? Well, now’s your chance. Come over here and tell me to stop fucking with her, and I will. All you have to do is come here and tell me to stop.”

“I don’t think he wants you to stop,” the forward pointman said. The other pointman laughed again.

“That true, Eugene? You want me to continue?”

“Hey, boss,” from the rear pointman, “maybe you should let him see her tits.” The guffawing continued.

“That right, Gene? You just want to see some titties?” He reached around Sandy and ripped open her shirt. With his knife he cut off her bra and exposed her breasts. He turned her toward the woods. “There you go, Genie, my man. Take a gander at those gazongas.” He grabbed hold of her left breast and began fondling and shaking it. “How’s that Genie, my man? You’ve been dreaming of these tits haven’t you? Come on over here and have a taste.” He paused, looking at his men, grinning. “What’s that? You want me to taste them first?” The men howled again. Armstrong had no choice but to watch and wait for his opportunity.

Pizzaro put his hot breath in Sandy’s face. His breath reeked. Sandy fought back anger and tears. Pizzaro put his mouth over the nipple and suckled it.

“Ahhhh! Oh, Genie, you got to taste this. Just like the fine wine you like to drink.”

Eugene was only about ten feet from Sandy, hiding behind a tree. He knew what was going on, and he was determined to stop it. He tucked the Beretta in his pants while he tried to think of a plan. He kept picturing Catherine at Jaydin Casimir’s hands—helpless, and he, clueless. Not this time, though. This time he knew exactly what was going on, and he was determined that this time the guy would lose.

“Stop it!” Eugene heard himself yelling. It was a futile plea and he knew it. It was a threat that he expected to die executing; yet he knew there was no turning back.

“Oh, you want me to stop?” The men laughed.

“Well, just come on over here, and tell me to stop. I promise I will.” Pizzaro paused. “I’m not hearing anything from you, Gene. I don’t hear the crunching of dead leaves or some twigs on the ground. No, I don’t think you’re coming. If not, then I guess I should continue.”

“Do her, Sevi,” the rear pointman yelled.

“You want me to do her, Genie my man? Is that what you’re waiting for?” He reached around her waist and unbuttoned her jeans. He pulled down her zipper and put his hands under her pants, pulling them down to the knees. Then, with his right hand, he put the knife right over her panties and slid the dull side of the blade down slowly to her crotch; then turned it over to the sharp side, and held it there.

Sandy was doing her best to fight back the tears welling up inside her .

I have to be calm, my opportunity will come , she thought.

Then, suddenly, Pizzaro grabbed the panties and pulled them down. He then turned Sandy toward the woods. “Hey, Gene—get a gander of that twat will you.” The men continued laughing. The sharpshooters’ trigger fingers were getting itchy.

“You like that, Gene? What’s that you say? Too much pubic hair? Spoils the view?” Pizzaro and his men laughed.

“Hey, boss,” the forward pointman said, “I think he’s taking pictures back there.”

The other pointman spoke up. “Sevi, I think he wants a better view.”

“You want a better view, Genie? Oh, sure, I understand.” He turned Sandy toward the road. There were occasional honks from the passing cars, but still no police. Pizzaro bent Sandy over with her butt facing Eugene. Then he spanked her a couple times to the howling men. “Get a good look at that twat, Genie. How do ya like it now?” Pizzaro looked up like he was showing off his new trophy. Then he reached down and grabbed her vagina, rubbing it. “Just getting it ready for my big cock.”