Hakim didn't return home until well past noon. Per his instructions, I had been standing guard on the porch for hours, slogging through a cycle of nodding out, jerking awake, rubbing my eyes and dozing off again. The adrenaline rush from the previous evening's near-death experience had long since evaporated, leaving behind a splitting headache and guts that felt like they'd been washed out with bleach.
Isaac's SUV rolled up behind Hakim's car, followed by two identical black Mercedes sedans. Hakim, Isaac and his two bodyguards exited their respective vehicles, while whoever sat behind the tinted glass of the other two cars stayed put. The four men approached me, all frowns, while I shifted from foot to foot.
Isaac stared a hole through me. "You need to tell me exactly what happened."
I drew a breath. "Um, well, sir, I was scrubbing the kitchen floor and then there was a bunch of gunshots."
"You see anything?"
"I ... uh, sir, I was on my hands and knees, and when the shooting started, I closed my eyes. So, I really wasn't in a position to see anything, sir."
"I mean earlier last night," Isaac said. "Think, pussy boy. Did you see anyone suspicious hanging around? Or has anything happened recently that seemed unusual?"
"N-no, sir, nothing, sir."
I was fearful that Isaac or my master might somehow sense that I wasn't being forthright about my earlier contacts with the DEA agents, but the questions stopped and my heartbeat slowed.
Isaac peered through the glassless windows at the bullet holes that covered the inside walls. "We need to get you somewhere safe," he told Hakim. "I'll have some of the fellas come by and board this place up; you can come stay with me in Kenilworth. Nobody can touch you there."
"My man. Thanks."
"No problem. Your lady and kids are welcome, too, brother. There's plenty of room, and you know they'll be safe at my crib."
"No, man, I appreciate it, but I'm trying to keep them away from the life, and if they're with us at your place--"
"I understand. As long as they're okay."
Hakim nodded. "I got 'em put up in a hotel in Wisconsin. I sent Frank, Ron and JJ to guard 'em, so they'll be fine."
"All right, then, I'll have Buttercup get a couple rooms ready for you and the pussy boy."
My master shook his head. "Nah, one room's fine. The pussy boy can stay with me."
That was the last thing I wanted to hear but of course I said nothing.
Hakim snapped his fingers. "Okay, Timmy, we got to go, so get your ass moving. Pack up my clothes and toothbrush and shit, and a couple changes of clothes for yourself too."
"Yes, sir."
"And don't forget your wig and nightgowns, and your makeup, too, so you can be nice and pretty for me, Twinkie."
I choked out another "y-yes, sir," as Isaac looked on smirking.
"Twinkie, huh?" Isaac chuckled. "Figured it wouldn't be long -- just don't ruin him like you did the other ones." Isaac sneered at me. "I feel for you, Twinkie; back in the joint, this motherfucker was known for sending sissies to the infirmary."
"Hey, if they do what they're told they don't get hurt." Hakim patted me on the head. "We don't need to worry about this one; he's a good little bitch. You my good little bitch, Twinkie?"
"Yes, sir."
"Damn skippy. Now, go pack, bitch, and let's get going."
I loaded up the back of Hakim's Mercedes with our clothes, toiletries and other items and started to slide into the car -- but my master stopped me with a scowl.
"What the fuck you think you're doing?"
"Um, I ... I was just getting into the car, sir."
"Well, sit your punk ass in the backseat, bitch, you don't ride up front with me. We ain't buddies, motherfucker."
"S-sorry, sir." I squeezed in the back with the bags.
Hakim followed Isaac's SUV for about a half-hour until we stopped in front of an ominous wrought-iron gate. A man in a dark suit emerged from a guard shack and leaned toward Isaac's window. After a brief conversation, the guard flashed a hand signal, the gate slid open and the procession of vehicles filed onto the property. At the end of a winding tree-lined drive was the large house that served as Isaac's headquarters.
Weighed down by the first load of clothes bags, I followed Isaac and my master inside and gasped out loud when I glimpsed the pitiable creature who greeted us at the entranceway. Standing at about 5'6 and weighing no more than 100 lbs., this thing in a maid's uniform had obviously undergone major facial surgery, resulting in features that resembled a sad, puffed-up, feminized clown, including a brown, curly Shirley Temple hairstyle and a pair of balloons where lips used to be.
"Buttercup, you remember Hakim from Block B?" Isaac said as he handed his coat to the emaciated sissy.
"Yes, it's so nice to see you again, sir, welcome to our home, sir."
Hakim grinned. "Buttercup, you look so pretty. What did your daddy do to you?"
"Just a little tweak here and there, courtesy of Doctor G," Isaac said, rubbing the sissy up and down, clearly proud of his ghoulish creation. "A little plastic surgery might do your pussy boy some good, too. My man's got an operating room in his garage; he'll hook you right up with whatever you want -- shit regular doctors won't do."
Hakim shrugged. "Maybe later on. Right now, I got other problems."
"Yeah, you ain't kidding, brother," Isaac said. "Let's go to the War Room and figure this shit out." He turned to his sissy. "Buttercup, take Twinkie to his daddy's bedroom and help him get unpacked, and then he can help you get lunch started."
Buttercup curtsied. "Yes, Master."
"Make yourself pretty, too, Twinkie," Hakim said. "In fact, while we're here, you might as well just stay like that."
"Yes, sir."
"Two sissies are better than one," Isaac chuckled as he led his colleague toward his den, the "War Room."
After standing in the foyer alone with Buttercup for a few silent, awkward seconds, I tried to drum up conversation.
"Um, so you knew Hakim back in prison?"
"My master doesn't like me to talk," Buttercup replied in a squeaky, wavering voice.
I gazed into this pathetic, frightened, brainwashed creature's dead eyes. What I saw turned my blood to slush.
