Darkness in the room only showed the gray shadows of the curtains and black shadows of the entrance to the kitchen and hallway. The old man had been sitting for a while on the sofa with his back to the window. His chest heaved with the inhale. Then, his belly pumped vigorously churning the held in breath in his stomach.
Clarence had been doing advanced pranayama yoga for about an hour. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He knew the place of everything anyway from the years that his apartment had slowly aged and become an old bachelor's home. His right pinky finger closed the left nostril and shot fiery air out of his right nostril. According to ancient scriptures, stimulating the right nostril is good for hunting, martial art, as well as defecating.
As he lowered his hand onto his lap, his eyes followed the hand in the half light. The hand was skinny. Then, the slenderness was youthful and attractive. Now, the slenderness looked frail and consumed. Invisible, yet he knew were the blotches of age freckles. They always made him sad as a reminder of the lost youth that he would never get back. Those moments of running and cajoling were spent so quick and thoughtlessly.
Behind him, the floorboard sounded a soft stump. At first, it seemed like a neighbor was passing. However, the neighbor's food steps were always focused and swift. Another step outside, he could hear the hollow wood of his door being touched. The barely visible shadow of the door opening was in his eye corners. He froze from shock. He was used to suspending his breath for minutes at a time from the yogic breathing exercises.
A small stature stepped silent like an Indian into the room. The hooded shadow walked straight for the desk. Hands shuffled items on his desk. The movements were round and feminine. The method was systematic one piece at a time rather than like an experienced thief straight for the typical honey pot hiding spot. He remembered the handcuffs in the top right drawer.
With the help of his walking cane, he pushed himself on his feet silently. One step at a time, he stalked the thief. The thief's movement had something playful about them like a young person. Silently, he kept his breath in check by constricting his throat. The slow breathing calmed his heart, except for the occasionally spurt of energetic bum-bum. The tension was most visible in the coldness of his skin. The adrenaline had cut off all blood flow to his extremities. His arms felt cold and sweaty.
The thief was unaware in the darkness of being a step away from home owner. He patiently waited for her to reach the top right drawer. The thief even noticed the handcuffs and placed them on the desk, as if to take them later as loot. With a swift hand, he swiped the hand cuffs, pushed the hand cuff levers through to open them, and clasped the thief's hands in the handcuffs behind the back.
With the arms disabled, the fight was equal between the old man and the young thief. The shaky hands of the old man tried to grab the soft sweater. The thief turned and twisted, yet had no plan. The old man had a plan. And, little by little his pulls and pushes moved the rambunctious thief into the hallway and finally into the bathroom. With the small bathroom window for privacy, the thief was helplessly punching with the shoulder into the darkness.
The old man however knew exactly where to feel the doorknob for the cabinet with the rope from his kinky past. He put one rope loop around the leg beneath the knee. The thief's body struggled vigorously. However, patiently like a boa, he waited for his chance to place another loop of rope around the leg neatly right next to the previous rope loop. Then, he connected the rope loops with rope loops that he made above the knee. The leg was now locked into a completely flexed position.
Immobilizing the other knee was much easier. The thief was more constricted and started to tire. He moved only faster laying the bondage. The final move was to roll the thief onto the belly. From there, he placed the underarms next to each other to place loops of rolls across both underarms. He carefully left a one inch gap between the arms. Later, he placed loops of rope crosswise over the rope loops in the middle. Thus the original rope loops tightened their noose.
During struggle, he had identified the thief further. Once, his flat hand had landed on her belly with the sweater pulled away. The skin had been soft and warm. Beneath the skin were small and strong muscles from regular workouts. Once, her fleshy butt had pushed him abruptly in the face during the wrestling. Another time, short hair had hit him on the chin almost like a soft shaving brush. He had a young woman captured in his bathroom.
He pulled the two rope ends from her wrist over each shoulder to pull her arms high into an even more locked position. He was careful not keep her throat free to not endanger her. Then, he fiddled the rope through her armpits to bondage her boobs with a long run above and a long run beneath her breast. Why he did that, he didn't know. He did it, because he could. He was taking advantage of the situation.
Finally, he placed a strip of gray duct tape over her mouth from the first aid kit. Then, with the door closed, he turned on the light. She was a black woman in her mid twenties. Her cheeks were colored with pink make-up on the cheeks. The color looked artificial. However, black women get away with artificial colors. Their dark skin makes color attractive. She looked sexy with her pink cheeks and the vibrantly blue eye shadow. Her hair was a short two inch buzz cut. Every hair stood straight up like a thick broom. The tips were colored in a light blue.
Her eyes were black and gloated with the anger of a wild animal being freshly captured. She had a ghetto look on her face. Her body was, small compact, and trained. Her pants looked freshly bought and neat. They had the look of a cheap store like American Eagle. However, they looked good on her tight body.
He towered over her in an old Docker khaki with tears at the knee and stretched wife beater undershirt. He was tall for his age. His hair was radiantly white and combed back. His eyes were bleached pure and blue by a long life. His cheekbones were high. He looked down at her pensively.
With the last piece of rope, he tied the knee bondage to her hip and pulled the knees apart. The young woman lay spread eagled with bent knees on her back on top of her tightly bond arms. She gave up her struggle, because she could only do stomach crunches.
He braised himself on the bathroom counter, "I want you to nod for every other person that is out there with you."
The thief shook her head vigorously with her hair flying.
Clarence kneeled onto her bicep with his sharp, skinny, old knee. He felt her soft bicep. She screamed a voiceless scream under her duct taped mouth. The duct tape ballooned a little under the powerful scream. Tears ran down the outsides of her eyes. He lifted the knee.
"Now, not to tell me how many of your thug friends are robbing an old man."
She shook her head again, this time under heaving shrieks.
"So be it."
He left her in the darkness of the closed bathroom. With Ninja silence, he retrieved the handheld Taser from his nightstand and threw on a shirt. Creeping along the shadow of the outside wall, he left through the back gate.
The street was empty under the single lazy street light like every night, except for a plumber's van with green and yellow signs. A slogan promised, "We repair what your husband fixed." Visible in the side mirror, was a black young man with puffy cheeks and a black French beret hat. An elbow in a blue shirt rested on the rolled down window holding a lit cigarette.
He slowly walked towards the van leaning heavier on his cane then before. The other hand waved in the air at the driver: "You can't park here. You get towed away. That neighbor always calls the cops, that wench. The tow truck driver always gives her a twenty, that cheap wench. I don't like her doing that. That's why I am telling you, before they are here."
While talking, he had covered the whole way to stand next to the driver window. The driver sat there with an open mouth and leaned forward to scan the neighboring windows. The old man appearance always disarmed people. People always let their guard down, when they see an old man with wrinkled skin that divides the cheeks into flabs. He reached his head inside of the window and started looking around curiously.
"C'mon man, you can't be sniffing around in my van. Get your head out, weird old man."
The driver always smiled warmly like telling a puppy to let go of a sleeper. It had only been a ruse to get close to the driver's body. He snapped the Taser at the driver's neck and zapped him. The load click-clack of tens of thousands of volts convulsing through the driver's body sounded harshly. Under the uncontrolled convulsion, the driver drunkenly managed to push his hand into Clarence's direction once before sinking into sweet nothing.
Clarence dragged the body into the back of the van. He tied the man's ankles together and tied that to his throat. The man's body was bending backwards by the pull like taught bow. He tied the man's hands. It always felt weird to tie man. There was the strange intimacy of getting so close and personal with somebody. However, he had no mercy for male criminals. He left the man in a stress position that was sure to torment the man, when he would get back up.
Sweeping the front of the building, he ensured that nobody else was hiding. He jump-hobbled at the garbage cans like someone was hiding behind it. He apprehended a few more shadows before feeling assured that it was only two of them.
Inside the house, he grabbed the young woman under her shoulder and dragged her to his desk. Feeling her frame, he remembered how small and soft the bodies of young women are. He had forgotten in his ten years of abstinence after his wife had died. Bending forward, he smelled her hair. Clean orange scent filled his nostrils.
In the light of his living room, he looked at her on the floor. He was sitting in his office chair with the metal wire glasses on. Her face and body was that of a ghetto beauty. All the white women in his neighborhood had great bodies according to the specs: The personal trainers shaped the muscles, the yoga instructor gave them a serene look, the cosmetic surgeons lifted and raised the breasts, and the expensive boutiques covered their bodies in luxuries fabrics.
However, beneath the pretty lacquer, he could see their boring and bitchy lives. Whenever he took a real look at them walking down the street, it made the core of his being shiver to find so much emotional distortion and pain inside those human vessels. This young woman however had done expertly with her simple funds. The clothing and makeup was evidently cheap, yet made her alluring. Her taught cheeks and darting eyes were full of vitality and the punch that was required facing a ghetto world full of obstacles. He instantly loved her.
"Do you know a Bobby?" asked he rhetorically. Then, he waved the outside man's driver license in front of her face. The young woman erupted in shrieks of anger. Her eyes glowed. Her nose wrinkled and made her look like a panther.
He chuckled at the display of emotion. How young and inexperienced, did he think to himself. The woman acted like she was caught in a children's play. The woman did not properly assess her situation and prioritize threats. He liked her. The evening wasn't going to be another dull, lonely night after all.
"I won't hurt you. I want to take the tape of your mouth, so that we can talk. If you scream, we put it right back on. Nod, if you are going to be quiet."
She nodded with a new submissiveness. Her eyes showed more white than before. He paused for a moment considering isopropyl to dissolve the glue in the tape to make it less painful. Then, he realized that the isopropyl would leave residue that the police could use as evidence that he had crossed the line of home defense.
So, he ripped the duct tape. The skin pulled away from her face in long strings, because it liked sticking to the duct tape more than to the face. The young woman huffed with a red face to suppress the scream of pain. The sticky side of the duct tape had an imprint of her fruity lip stick and pale concealer makeup.
"What did you do to Bobby?" hissed the young woman with unabashed poison.
"Oh," chuckled Clarence, "Bobby will be sore for a few days, but he is fine. Is he your little love bird?"
