The Saga of Blanche, Part III: The Abduction ************************* Okay, where was I? Things have been happening so fast lately....first the sob session with Miles O'Smiles, then the amazing recollections of Vitaly Arkhoff, former bodyguard/masseur to Coyreen, the Porno Queen, and now my upcoming interview with the Number One Suspect in the case, the mysterious, glamorous Blanche Snowe herself. And it had been a mere ten days since Coyreen's slime-covered little form had been extracted from the La Brea Tar Pits..... but I'm getting ahead of myself.... Oh, incidentally, there was one bright spot during this period of mystery and intrigue. Good old Sammy Darras, the bookie, had come through for me after all, and I was able to pocket a cool two grand (less Sammy's cut) when that dubious stud, Magic Apple, won by a nose at Santa Anita. Who'd have guessed? Maybe the nag's come-from-behind victory was some kind of omen, and the Coyreen case would prove to be simpler than I thought. Fat fuckin' chance! My second visit to Vitaly Arkhoff's hideaway in the San Fernando Valley was even more bizarre than the first. The 300-pound Olympic powerlifter answered my very first question with a smile and a blush. "Tell me, Vitaly," I asked, "why did Coyreen keep calling you 'Vasily?' Is that a middle name, or something?" "Oh, no, Meester Greembros," he said, his eyes dancing with memories. "Ze very first time I gave Meestress ze massatch, I used a combeenation of meeneral water and Vaseline. You see, when ze muzzles in ze neck and shoulders are tight, I apply ze Vaseline, then ze heating pad. It relaxes ze muzzles while I use my hands on Meestress' calfs an' thighs an' buttocks...." "Oh, I see," I replied hastily, not really wanting to hear any more. "I guess if you wanted her to use your real name, you coulda rubbed her down with Vitalis, right?" He didn't get the joke. "V-vitalees, sir? Vhat ees Vitalees?" "Oh, just a joke, Vitaly. It's an old-fashioned men's hairdressing." "Ahhh," he said, realization flickering somewhere in his dark eyes. Then his brow furrowed. "But, no, sir, I vouldn't have used ze Vi-tal-ees, because Meestress had no hair on her body, not even...." he stopped abruptly and blushed a deep purple. "Hey, don't worry, Vitaly, I've seen her films!" He seemed relieved; he had not given away his beloved Mistress' secrets after all. Then he continued his account of his abduction of Blanche Snowe. ****************************************************************************** After visiting the nearest men's room, where he splashed cold water on his face and tried to rearrange both his uniform and his composure, Vitaly had taken a few deep breaths and lumbered downstairs to the secretarial area of O'Smiles Productions, Inc. Because he could not hire a "personal secretary" without incurring Coyreen's furious jealousy, Miles depended on a small steno pool for his clerical work, and it was into this area that the giant Russian proceeded in his search for Blanche Snowe. She was not at her desk (adorned with a small vase holding one perfect, blood-red rose), but he soon caught sight of her in a corner, sitting knee-to-knee with Fernando, the gardener, on two folding steel chairs. Fernando, a small, wiry Mexican-American in his sixties, was clearly distraught, almost to the point of tears, and Blanche was speaking to him in soothing, reassuring tones, one lovely white hand resting on the man's bony shoulder. Vitaly stood for a moment and watched the odd little tableau. Fernando was skinny, his body hidden in the khaki work clothes of his trade; his hair was thinning and greasy; his face, contorted with emotion, resembled that of a rodent, but with a wispy, unimpressive mustache that did not exactly evoke images of Zapata. And yet, there was Blanche, clearly the loveliest girl on the entire O'Smiles estate with her flawless white skin, raven-black hair, and delicate, almost aristocratic features, squeezing the gardener's shoulder, brushing his grass-stained knees with her own, softly talking him through some major or minor heartbreak or crisis as though she were his personal counselor. It made no sense to Vitaly, but he could somehow identify with the old gardener, and, as a man, he was touched. Apparently there was more to this woman than met the eye; and what met the eye was enticing enough. Vitaly cleared his throat loudly and weaved through the desks and chairs and staring stenographers, until he stood towering over Blanche and Fernando. Fernando, attempting to hide his emotion from the big man, sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of a grimy hand. Blanche looked up at Vitaly and favored him with the most radiant smile he had seen in days. Her ruby-red lips parted, displaying perfect teeth and a pink little tongue, and her eyes danced as she said in cheerful tones, "Oh, hi, Mr. Arkhoff! You look very handsome in your uniform today! What brings you to our little office?" Then she reached out and placed a hand on Fernando's trembling knee. "You know Senor Martinez, of course?" The big Russian nodded to the gardener, who sniffed a reply. "Yas, ma'am," replied Vitaly, "'Allo, Fernando. Um, Mees Blanche? Meester O'Zmiles vants you to meet him out at ze studio. He asked me to drife you." "Oh?" Blanche replied, momentarily puzzled. "I wonder what he wants? Well, I suppose I'll find out soon enough. Just one moment, please, Vitaly." "Yas, Mees Blanche, at your surface," he grunted, and turned away to allow Blanche and Fernando a moment to conclude their conversation. In a moment he heard Blanche's whispered voice urging the gardener, "Now, Senor Martinez, don't be rude. This isn't charity. Let's just say I'm paying you for all those lovely sunflowers Senora Martinez sends me every week! You know I could never find anything so beautiful at a florist's! Now don't be silly; take it!" Out of the corner of his eye, Vasily saw the girl slip a hundred-dollar bill into the gardener's breast pocket. Then she quickly stood up, before the gardener could change his mind, and tugged on Vitaly's sleeve. "Okay, Mr. Arkhoff, I'm ready when you are!" Meester Arkhoff? Vitaly wondered. Vhat is this Meester Arkhoff sheet? And Senor Martinez? Shaking his head slightly, he opened the office door for Blanche, and they walked into the hallway leading outside. Closing the door behind them, he bent slightly and picked up the Igloo picnic cooler he had left in the hallway, and, straightening, gestured down the hall. Blanche's exquisitely sculpted calves and thighs tensed and tugged as she stepped quickly to keep up with the big Russian. "Say, Mr. Arkhoff," Blanche asked as they walked into the sunshine, "what's the cooler for? Isn't there a bar and a refrigerator at the studio?" "Not for studio," Vitaly muttered. "For bringing something back." He could hardly tell the girl, at this stage in the game, that Coyreen had commanded him to murder her and bring back her heart as proof of her death. In any event, Blanche just shrugged her shoulders and asked no further explanations. As they approached the car, Vitaly glanced at the girl. "Iss allright with you if ve take HumVee? Ve take ze Bentley if you prefer...." The HumVee was Vitaly's personal automobile, and he always used it for troublesome excursions, which this was quite likely to be. But Blanche's innocent, trusting face lit up with pleasure, and she actually clapped her hands with delight. "Oh, no, Mr. Arkhoff, I'd love to ride in the HumVee! I've only seen them in movies!" And so, with no further questions, he helped her into the menacing-looking vehicle, and after stashing the cooler, joined her. In a moment they were rolling out of Brentwood, on their way to the most remote place Vitaly could imagine. Meestress say ze desert, he thought to himself. Meestress say Mojave. But Vitaly go to different desert. He smiled a faint, grim little smile. Meestress would approve. One desert bad as any other... ********************************************************** Blanche didn't speak for most of the drive, but hummed softly as she looked out the windows at the passing scenery. Odd, she thought; this doesn't look like the road to the studio; in fact, they seemed to be headed in the general direction of downtown LA. But she didn't worry: after all, Mr. Arkhoff was, among other things, Coyreen's chauffeur, and perhaps he knew some shortcut that nobody had ever told her about! She continued her humming and daydreaming. Inches away, pushing the powerful automobile through its paces, Vitaly was daydreaming, too, and it angered him. By ze sacred beard of St. Stanislaus, he thought, vhat am I to do? I am to obey Meestress, of course. I am to keel thees girl and break open her ripcage and tear out her silly heart...but then she'll stop ze humming, and ze humming is so pretty....He cast a sideways glance at her. Gott damn, he thought, SHE is so pretty! Not a theeng like Meestress Coyreen; not zlutty at all! And, although he came from a race of Slavic people with broad Slavic faces, there were exceptions; and one of these had been his own mother, whose features were fine and delicate like thees silly girl....even ze colorink, he thought, remembering his mother's fine black hair and fresh skin, which was pale and glowing at the same time, like the moon..... His thoughts were interrupted when Blanche finally broke the silence with a question. "Mr. Arkhoff, what are those big tower-thingies we seem to be approaching? They look like little Eiffel Towers, but they're kind of bendy, or something. Do you know what they are?" He glanced at her; her face was open, innocent, her violet eyes clear and inquisitive. No time to make up a lie, he thought; and, anyway, he didn't want to lie to this girl. "Those are ze Watts Towers, Mees Blanche," he replied. "Zey don't do anything; zey don't mean anything. Zey are what you call a landmark. I t'ink zey are example of decadent capitaleest art. Excuse me, pliss," he said in a softer tone, "You deedn't ask for my opinion." "Oh," Blanche replied cheerfully, "are we making a stop in Watts? I thought we were going straight to the studio! Oh, well! But, Mister Arkhoff, I like to hear your opinions. I'm sure a man who's been all around the world, like you have, has got very interesting opinions!" Vitaly gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. This would not be as easy as he had planned. Forcing himself to stop grinding his teeth, he licked his lips and said slowly, "Mees Blanche? May I ask question, pliss?" "Of course you can," Blanche replied. "What would you like to ask?" "T'ank you. I would like to know why you call me 'Meester Arkhoff,' and everyone else calls me plain old Vitaly? An' I notice you call Fernando, ze gardener, 'Zeenor Martinez.' Ve all are workers; ve all work for Meester and Meez O'Zmiles; why you talk so formal?" Blanche's eyes widened; the question genuinely surprised her. "Oh, well, I hadn't really thought about it, Mr. Arkhoff. I guess it's just my way of showing respect. Is that wrong?" "No, no, ma'am," Vitaly answered hastily. "And, with Meester and Meez O'Zmiles, I understand. But zey are bosses. We, I mean you and me and Fernando, are workers. Ve work." Her answer burned into the Russian's heart like a laser beam. "Well, that's true," she said softly, "and that's why I respect you. The 'bosses,' as you call them, demand to be treated with respect. But I treat working folks with respect because they deserve it." Vitaly was completely undone. He had started this grim errand with no other thought than to sink his prick into Coyreen's educated little twat. But now, in the face of this beauty, this innocence, he could only think of how very different the two women were. And Coyreen did not do well by comparison. They were in the middle of the Watts district now, the strange, twisted iron towers looming almost directly over them. There was nothing to be seen but ramshackle apartments, struggling storefront businesses, and a sea of black and not-so-black faces. Some of these narrowed their eyes and remained impassive as the big HumVee rolled past; others shouted or sneered or cursed. Vitaly knew that Blanche's chances of survival would have been considerably greater in the Mojave Desert; and he felt genuine remorse for what he was about to do. Slowing to a crawl, he steered the car into a dark, cramped alley, and shifted into Park. He would not turn off the engine; not here! Instead, taking his hands from the steering wheel, he looked at Blanche's lily-white, somewhat puzzled face, and said what he truly did not want to say. "Mees Blanche, I vant to t'ank you. Effer since coming here, people call me 'Vitaly.' That iss okay. But today, for ze first time, you make me feel like Meester Arkhoff. Iss very fine gift. An' now, in return, I geev you gift. You see, I vas sent here to keel you." Blanche gasped, and her eyes instantly filled with tears, but she did not cry out. "Don't ask me, pliss, who vanted this. But Vitaly agreed to keel you, and here ve are. But now, you see, efferthing deeferent. Meester Arkhoff cannot, will not, do zis t'ing. So I am gif'ing you your life. Now, Mees Blanche, I will turn my head avay, but I vant you to remove your clothes, all of zem, pliss, and get out of ze car. Now. Before Vitaly comes back." And, with many sobs and uncounted tears, but no arguments, she did just that. She raised her hips off the seat and slipped her sky-blue sundress over her shoulders, then unhooked her bra, revealing her perfectly shaped breasts, capped with nipples exactly the size and color of ripe strawberries, and finally tugged off her blue silk panties. She hugged herself modestly, sniffling and seeming to sob with each breath. The mixture of her perfume and the scent of her own healthy body reached Vitaly and nearly drove him mad. But he did not turn to face her. She t'inks I am gentleman, he thought to himself; so gentleman I shall be. "Meestress Blanche," he said softly, "I t'ink you are feenished now. I vant you to leave your clothes in the car, and your purse, and get out. You may wear your shoes; zees alley is full of broken glass. After I drife avay, you are on your own. But I varn you: eef you call O'Zmiles offices, or residence, someone else vill come to keel you, and keel Vitaly, as vell. Forgeev me, lady. Now go." And so Blanche opened the door, and swung her long, naked legs out, and stepped out of the car, trembling with fears she had never expected to feel. But before closing the door, she lowered her head to look at the Russian, who was still facing away, and she stammered softly, "Mr. Arkhoff, sir? I forgive you." Then, sobbing, she shut the door firmly, and within moments, she stood alone, naked, gleaming perfectly white in the dingy alley, watching the HumVee exit the alley at the other end. She had not stood there alone for more than 90 seconds (although it seemed like a month) when she heard the sound of rough male laughter behind her, and a sly, streetwise voice said: "Well, well! And just what the fuck to we have here?" Gasping, Blanche whirled around, covering her nakedness as best she could. There, in the entrance to the alley, stood a group of young, very large men, all wearing black leather jackets and sunglasses, all smirking and staring at this unexpected vision before them. Blanche's terrified mind took inventory of the group: all young, probably less than 25; all at least 6 feet tall and heavily muscled; three blacks, one white, one Latino, and one Oriental. Seven in all...... The group began to saunter insolently toward her, peppering the air with vulgar invitations and comments and jokes; and, when the leader turned to one of his fellows to get a light for his cigarette, Blanche could see what was emblazoned on the back of the men's jackets: THE DEVIL'S DWARVES. And when she fainted from sheer terror, they were there to catch her.