Locked.

Fuck!

He clicked the gun at it which failed to do anything except pass the time.

He kicked the lock, then hopped around on one foot for a few moments, cradling the foot in his hands.

‘Oh….ouch…’ he gasped.

The pain subsided enough to try another tack.

He placed the injured foot on the floor, backed up a little for the run-up, took a deep breath, and charged, right shoulder first.

***

‘This is getting boring,’ said the man, raising his eyebrows as he watched the screens.

On one, Donnie rolled around on the floor for a while, swearing and holding his shoulder in a vain attempt to make the pain go away.

‘We’ve waited this long,’ said the woman. ‘A few moments more isn’t going to break the bank is it?’

He turned to her.

‘That’s a mixed metaphor.’

‘Hmmm?’ she smiled as she turned her head.

* * *

‘Open goddamn it!’ yelled Donnie.

If wishes were horses, this one would have left enough manure for a market garden.

The door opened and a familiar face stepped out, the accompanying body dressed in bright orange overalls.

‘You!’

‘Me?’ said Donnie.

‘You bastard! You hit me!’

The man grabbed Donnie by the shoulders and pushed him across the hallway, terminating against the opposite wall.

‘Who are—Harold,’ Donnie exclaimed.

‘Yes, Harold,’ said Harold, bruised over one eye and extremely pissed-off.

‘Harold the gimp,’ said Donnie with surprise. This was a turn-up for the books.

‘That really fucking hurt,’ said Harold angrily. ‘And I missed out on my bonus. You owe me a mask too.’

‘Ah. Well, I can explain.’

‘And do you know how hard it is to explain bruises like this?’

Donnie grinned sheepishly.

‘Now it’s my turn,’ said Harold darkly.

Harold removed a hand from Donnie’s shoulder, clenched a fist and pulled back to hit Donnie with it.

One shoulder free, Donnie twisted toward Harold just quickly enough to avoid the fast-approaching appendage. Harold’s fist hit the aluminum wall with a clang!

Donnie twisted further, gripping Harold’s other hand. Neither man was used to fighting; they overbalanced, and toppled over to the floor.

The two men rolled around, Donnie on top – then not – then on top once more. The struggle was hardly one that would have ended up in an action movie starring muscle-bound heroes. A slapstick comedy from the 1920′s perhaps, but certainly not a Hollywood punch-on.

Harold managed to get into a position which would have been extremely compromising had Donnie been Daisy.

He looked down at Donnie with a triumphant expression.

‘Finally,’ he said. ‘I am so pissed-off!’

‘I can understand that,’ said Donnie, well and truly pinned.

‘I had information for you,’ yelled Harold. ‘I was sworn to deliver it. The location of the main CCT base–’

‘Right here,’ said Donnie. ‘I’ve worked it out.’

Harold scowled angrily, then his expression became one of worry. He looked up.

Donnie craned backwards and saw a pair of wet shoes inside which were a pair of scratched and bleeding legs. The pantyhose had seen better days.

Tina lashed out and kicked Harold’s face viciously. His head snapped back and he fell, unconscious onto Donnie.

‘Get up,’ said Tina in a voice that could only have been described as pissed-off.

Donnie pushed Harold off of himself and did as he was told.

‘That looks like it hurts,’ said Donnie, with mock concern about Tina’s injuries. He pointed to his own face. ‘There’s a doctor down there if you’re interested. She’s great with a needle.’

‘Open it,’ she said, indicating the door which Donnie had been trying to use.

‘Can’t,’ said Donnie matter-of-factly. ‘He’s got the card.’

She gave him a look which communicated all that was required, then for the sake of clarity, vocalised her feelings.

‘Get the card or I’m going to use your head to open the door,’ she hissed.

Donnie retrieved then swiped Harold’s card in the lock. The door clicked open.

The door led to a metal gantry, across a vast warehouse-like luggage processing area.

‘You first,’ she said.

‘Thought you’d say that,’ he said with a worried tone. He side-stepped through the doorway, keeping his eyes on her.

As the door slammed shut, Tina shoved him viciously and he stumbled forwards and down onto the metal framework of the gantry.

Beneath the structure was a conveyor belt which carried luggage from one end of the area to the other.

Tina knelt on Donnie’s back and grabbed his head, lifted, and slammed it down hard.

‘Ow! Fuck,’ Donnie exclaimed.

He twisted and tried to dislodge her.

Tina overbalanced enough for Donnie to wriggle free. He tried to stand, but was tripped again.

She pushed him down and dug her fingernails into his neck.

Donnie elbowed backwards, and the random blow smacked hard into Tina’s hip.

They rolled away from one-another, clutching the parts of their bodies that screamed painfully.

Donnie got to his feet, just beating Tina. He ran along the gantry, cradling his elbow. Tina followed, limping slightly.

‘Come back you fucking bastard!’ she yelled after him.

‘Not on your life,’ he yelled back, then fell forwards in response to something hitting his head.

The shoe clanked down on the metal behind him.

Tina was on him again, now pushing him under the guard-rail. She slapped at his hands as he tried in desperation to prevent himself falling.

‘What’s your problem,’ he pleaded, now hanging on with only one hand. ‘I’ve never done anything to you!’

‘Your kind have kept women down for thousands of years! Now it’s time for payback!’

Great.

She slapped his remaining hand hard enough, and with a yelp of pain, flipped in mid-air and landed upon a well-stuffed bag moving along the conveyor belt.

‘Oh, shit,’ he said, raising his head. The conveyor terminated only twenty meters ahead and beyond that came the sounds of something unpleasantly mechanical.

Thumpa-Thumpa-Thumpa!

‘Bye, bye,’ yelled Tina triumphantly.

Donnie stood unsteadily and glanced upwards. There was no way he could get back onto the bridge.

The conveyer belt led into a large metal machine. Donnie ducked down and peered inside.

Hammers and mangles did to the luggage what only the most cynical traveller had hitherto only suspected.

* * *

‘Now perhaps,’ asked the man.

‘He’s got no way out this time.’

The boy began to cry.

* * *

Donnie ran back along the belt, tripping on bags big and small as he went. He abandoned the idea of avoiding them – what was the point anyway – and ran on top of them instead.

* * *

The Cubists rolled their eyes and cradled their heads for a moment in frustration.

The woman stood. ‘I know where he’s going.’

‘Take care,’ said her brother.

She reached into the play-pen and picked-up her son, comforting him while surreptitiously checking his nappy.

‘You’ll be okay with him,’ she asked her brother. ‘I don’t think he’ll need a change for a while.’

* * *

Donnie slid down a side-belt on his backside, bumping past caged animals which were speeding toward another machine. This one made an awful screaming sound and shook like a paint-mixing machine.

At the bottom, he rolled off onto terra-firma on his hands and knees beside the main machine and a small open-topped monorail car, on a rail that led back into the building.

He got back to his feet and ran past a man sitting at a desk marked ‘Quality Control’.

The man ignored Donnie’s passing, concentrating instead on stuffing a big bag of vegetable matter into a suitcase. He reached out for a large knife and slashed, in a bored fashion, at another.

Donnie crashed through the plastic doors and sprinted down another corridor. Soon he emerged again on the tarmac.

Glancing upwards to make sure he wasn’t about to be turned into swiss export-quality fromage, he spied a plane slowly coming into the terminal. It stopped and the door opened.

Marcus climbed out, glanced around and spied Donnie who jogged towards the now stationary plane standing there like a very big white tube with wings.

‘Where are the others,’ asked Marcus.

At the edge of his hearing, Donnie heard a hollow sound and yelped in pain. He pulled a needle from his neck.

‘Oh shit…’ he collapsed.

* * *

Fuzzy light entered Donnie’s eyes. It increased as his eyes opened fully.

‘Whuhhhhh?’ he murmured. ‘Where…?’

The room was dark other than the spotlights which were trained upon his prone body.

He glanced around just as a man stepped forward from the darkness beyond.

‘You are perfectly safe,’ said the man.

‘And that would be because I’m stuck to a table,’ said Donnie with a little sarcasm. ‘So I can’t go anywhere I can get hurt?’

The man smiled. ‘Quite.’

‘Who’re you.’

‘Pardon me for not introducing myself,’ said the man. ‘I am Monsieur Bleu.’

‘And I am Madame Pink,’ said a woman walking forwards from the darkness.

‘The needle slinger.’

She smiled cryptically.

‘What’s going on,’ asked Donnie, for what felt like the thousandth time that day.

‘It is quite simple, Mister Penfolde,’ said Monsieur Bleu.

‘Is it? Oh, that’s good to know,’ replied Donnie with more sarcasm. ‘Pardon me, but I’ve heard that before and it’s never the case.’

They stared without saying a word. The silence became a little unnerving.

‘There’s no running away and instant death around the next corner is there,’ Donnie asked in a more conciliatory tone. These nutters had him in a very prone position. It wouldn’t hurt to try to be more polite.

‘That depends on whether you’re able to release yourself from these bonds in time,’ said Madame Pink.

She smiled cruelly.

Donnie craned his neck upwards and regarded the bonds. Metal manacles held his arms fast to the steel platform. Similar bonds held his ankles.

‘If you will look toward the ceiling,’ said Monsieur Bleu, ‘you will see a nice little device that you will find in most Compact Disc players.’

‘Ours is of a slightly better quality,’ continued Madame Pink, then added, ‘and intensity.’

To prove the point, a beam burst to life, slowly cutting through the platform between Donnie’s legs.

‘Now just– just hang on a minute,’ said Donnie watching the blue beam with eyes wide with surprise and fear. He began to yank at the manacles that held his hands.

‘What do you want from me,’ pleaded Donnie.

Madame Pink and Monsieur Bleu smiled enigmatically.

‘We are Cubists,’ said Monsieur Bleu. ‘We see things from all different points of view.’

‘Like you,’ said Madame Pink.

They stepped back and watched him from a discreet distance. Donnie could only make-out the shape of their bodies at the edge of the darkness; their faces were obscured.

The beam continued its path up toward Donnie’s body. He briefly wondered if one of the manacles wasn’t quite as well fastened as it could be. He pulled hard on it.

The smell of white-hot metal was sharp in his nostrils.

‘You expect me to talk,’ yelled Donnie, glancing up in panic at the manacle once more, then down at the beam.

‘No, Mister Penfolde,’ said Madame Pink.

Donnie gasped as he finally managed to free a hand, bloodied but intact.

Blue-arcing electricity burst to life, separating Donnie and the table from the rest of the room.

Donnie looked downwards and watched as the beam slowly tracked the last few inches towards his body.

‘Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck…’ said Donnie, and reached downwards.

BZORNT!

He woke with a killer headache and instinctively felt between his legs.

He found something unexpected.

He checked once more.

What?

Daisy-Donnie slowly opened their eyes, and saw a familiar device above their head. The beam of light stopped, as did the crackle of electricity around them.

The manacles holding one arm and their legs clicked open.

Daisy-Donnie sat up slowly, cradling their raw and bleeding hand with the other. They breathed shallowly, and their eyes darted here and there in considerable confusion. They blinked much faster than a normal person would.

Madame Pink and Monsieur Bleu stood just outside the circles of light and in partial shadow.

They glanced at each other and embraced.

‘We’ve done it,’ said Madame Pink.

Click to see the next installment: Pornography (part 1)

Thanks to Daniel for the luggage machine

Huntingdale and South Yarra, February 2006

© Lisa Sinclair 2004-2009 All Rights Reserved

The Grand Adventures of Daisy Donnie by Lisa Jane Sinclair is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 Australia License.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://www.daisydonnie.com/contact/. 9ae3f9335452f165d38cf62b412d20be (38.107.179.213)

‘Mama has a couple of things to do,’ she said to the boy.

He looked up at her, tilted his head, then looked down again.

The woman left the room.

* * *

‘Come on,’ said Elvis.

Elvis and Donnie picked Prime up between them and dragged her inside the complex.

‘We have to get her to safety,’ murmured Elvis; his voice full of concern. Unsaid was what was really on his mind: I led them here.

‘Us too, surely,’ said Donnie.

‘Where the hell has Marcus taken that plane,’ said Elvis, ignoring Donnie.

‘He could be anywhere by now.’

Prime stirred.

‘Not a good time, darlin’,’ remarked Elvis.

‘Elvis, my legs hurt,’ she said breathing shallowly.

‘That would be because they’ve got big holes in them,’ said Donnie, stating the obvious.

‘Oh. Seems reasonable,’ she said and passed out once more.

Donnie tried to stem her bleeding, but didn’t have a lot of luck.

‘Forget it,’ said Elvis, and together with Donnie, they lifted her up again, each under one of her arms.

Then they ran, or at least, moved as quickly as they could. Prime’s steel toe-capped boots dragged on the industrial-grade carpet, shining the toes to a dazzling mirror finish.

Above them, they heard footsteps on the metal roof. Panix and his goons had worked out what was going on and were pursuing.

They stopped at at a junction. Donnie took Prime as Elvis reloaded.

Elvis took his other gun from Donnie as the latter began to sag under Prime’s not enormous weight.

Elvis lifted Prime from him and supported her while Donnie stood again.

‘You need to work out, man,’ said Elvis. ‘She’s not that heavy.’

Donnie pulled a Daisy face, a kind-of why do I need to work out when there’s men around look.

Elvis looked from side-to side.

‘So, which way?’ asked Donnie. ‘Left was where we came from.’

‘This’ll do.’ said Elvis, turning right.

After a few moments they emerged in a dark, deserted lounge, just as another person entered, silhouetted against the light from the corridor.

Elvis and Donnie reared up, expecting trouble.

‘Can I help you,’ asked the woman in a shocked but official tone, her voice slightly accented. She was dressed not unlike Tina, but the resemblance ended there. Her hair was cropped short and looked like black velvet against her pale face.

‘That depends,’ said Elvis, pulling his jacket away from one of his holstered guns. Prime’s arm slipped from his grasp and she lolled forward.

‘Is she all right,’ asked the woman with concern.

The wind out of their sails, Donnie and Elvis paused. Their senses of urgency rallied and they spoke.

‘No, she needs a hospital,’ said Elvis. ‘Gunshot wounds.’

‘Or a doctor,’ Donnie finished the sentence.

‘A doctor?’ said the woman. ‘How lucky for you.’

The woman reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a mobile phone, dialed then spoke.

‘Pink here,’ she said. ‘I need a medical team to departure lounge six immediately. Three wheelchairs.’

‘Pink?’ said Elvis, realisation hitting him on the back of the head. ‘Oh, you gotta be–’

The doors crashed open again, and armed men rushed into the room, peeling past a single fat-faced figure standing in the doorway.

‘Going somewhere Penfolde?’ said Panix triumphantly.

The woman ducked behind the doorway.

Elvis turned Donnie.

‘Get her out of here!’ He pulled his guns and started to fire once more, running across the lounge for some cover.

Donnie moved toward Prime, and as bullets ripped into the wall nearby, screamed and ducked for cover behind seats.

He glanced up, trying to work out where he was in relation to Prime.

Prime was left lying prone. Donnie hoped she would be okay, because he couldn’t get to her without being shot to bits.

* * *

‘Merde,’ said the man, watching the action unfold on the screens. ‘When will this become simple?’

Behind him, the boy laughed happily.

The man turned briefly to face the child, his son, with a small smile broke across his black lips.

* * *

Everyone had found cover and waited for someone to make a mistake.

‘What the hell do you want this time, Panix,’ yelled Elvis from behind a group of seats.

‘Oh, the usual.’

‘What, more masturbation?’

‘I have something special in mind for you,’ hissed Panix angrily. ‘It’s getting better every minute you detain me.’

‘Bite me, fatso!’

A hollow sound pierced the silence.

‘Ow,’ said Elvis, pulling a dart from his neck.

He blinked a couple of times, eyes not focussing properly.

‘What…?’ he said, voice slurring.

‘Elvis?’ asked Donnie enquiring as to the nearby thud. There were several more, each preceded by a hollow sound and a yelp of pain.

Donnie chanced a look around the trolley behind which he was hidden. Nothing moved. There was no sound, other than the air-conditioning… except.

Something else he couldn’t put his aural finger upon.

He crawled on all-fours over to where Elvis was and found him unconscious and…

‘You’re snoring?’ Donnie looked at his friend in shock, finally working out the source of the additional sound. He moved to one-side and made an exclamation of pain.

Shit, a poisoned dart,’ he said yanking the aforementioned object from the palm of his hand. That would be what knocked The King out.

‘Not quite,’ said the woman, stepping over one of the bodies behind Donnie. She stopped beside one of the walls, standing still in shadow.

‘You can stand up by the way,’ she said. ‘It’s perfectly safe; all your assailants have been sent to the land of nod. It’s just you and me, now.’

Donnie considered what to do next. He couldn’t hide forever.

He stood slowly, allowing his hand to drag the floor and grasp one of Elvis’s guns. He hid it behind his back.

‘So what’s in the darts?’

‘No poison if that’s what you’re worried about.’

Donnie tilted his head in enquiry.

‘If you know enough about the human body,’ said the woman, ‘you will know that if you press on a specific point with just the right amount of pressure–oh, but I am forgetting myself. Please don’t move.’

She aimed a dart-pistol at Donnie.

‘Oh, threats,’ Donnie smiled drily. ‘What a change from the usual.’

‘This won’t hurt a bit.’

Donnie leapt to one side, raising Elvis’s gun and pulled the trigger. It clicked harmlessly, but it was enough to make the woman falter. The dart ended up in his shoulder just as he hit the ground and rolled.

Thankfully he was facing the doors.

Needles whipped past him as he ran, leaping over another set of seats, toppling, rolling, and getting his feet beneath himself once more.

Donnie burst through the doors and was gone.

The woman stood and stared at the doors as they swung slowly open and shut on their bi-directional hinges. She placed the gun back into her pocket and knelt down next to Prime.

Three men arrived, pushing wheelchairs.

‘Just take the woman and Presley,’ she said. ‘Ignore the others. They’ve served their purpose. Our bargain is at an end.’

* * *

Donnie sprinted back along the corridor, the adrenaline guiding him. After a few minutes he realised he’d become lost in the maze.

He stopped, his breath wheezing in and out from the sudden exertion. He was stuck.

Forward was more unknown. Behind was the needle-slinger.

Oh shit; and Prime. And Elvis.

In his desire not to be put to sleep, he’d forgotten about both of them.

He stood straight, closed his eyes and banged his head against the wall slowly and repeatedly for a few moments, while murmuring profanities.

‘What could I have done,’ he asked himself at last. ‘There’s no way I could have brought both of them; it was hard enough getting out of there on my own.’

It didn’t salve his conscience that well, but it was all he had.

With only a dull pain in his skull, and potential left temple bruising, he glanced down the corridor.

Above him a camera turned to face him and focussed.

* * *

‘Now perhaps?’ said the man.

A door opened and the woman entered.

‘We’ve got Presley and Prime,’ she said, sitting down. ‘I left the others.’

The man nodded, eyes still on the monitors.

‘He’s faltering again.’

‘Patience, dear brother,’ said the woman, glancing over to the boy who had curled up and was now asleep.

She sat down and watched him for a few moments.

* * *

Donnie stood a moment, his hand had moved automatically to his zipper.

He couldn’t though. His friends; Prime was nearly dead, Elvis unconscious… Marcus who knew where?

Damn this conscience of his. Damn it all to hell!

There was something on the edge of his vision. He frowned and slowly raised his head to face the camera above him.

There were four letters on its side:

C C T V

A terrible shiver expanded at the back of his head and rushed down his spine, and his mouth slowly opened in shock.

‘It can’t be…’ he whispered, remembering the conversation from the car:

Back in the here-and-now, Donnie’s jaw dropped, and read the first three initials on the camera.

‘C, C, T…’ Donnie breathed.

Donnie’s shocked face was displayed in close-up on the walls of screens

The woman clicked a button and the picture changed from a Donnie on each screen to a single face fragmented over them all.

‘C…C…T…,’ he breathed. ‘Oh, shit.’

The woman turned to the man. ‘Now things get interesting.’

‘He’s alone,’ said the man, rolling his chair next to her. ‘Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. He has to do it sooner or later.’

The woman glanced without turning her head in his direction. She raised an eyebrow.

‘The systems are set-up to catch him in the act?’ he asked.

‘You know full-well they are, dear brother,’ she said, turning and placing a hand against his cheek. ‘You worry too much.

* * *

Donnie now sprinted from the site of his discovery. Unbidden, the words to a Barry Adamson song rose up in his unconscious:

Think! It’s an airport! his thoughts screamed. There’s got to be help around! Another exit, another doorway… another…

He came to a screeching halt.

The answer to his prayers, or at least, his wishes: a door.

The sign on it was clear enough:

‘Has to be better than the alternatives,’ said Donnie.

Click to see the next installment: Porn Free (part 2)

© Lisa Sinclair 2004-2009 All Rights Reserved

The Grand Adventures of Daisy Donnie by Lisa Jane Sinclair is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 Australia License.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://www.daisydonnie.com/contact/. 9ae3f9335452f165d38cf62b412d20be (38.107.179.213)