by Featherfiend
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Jeff slipped back into his slippers.
They had been warmed up a bit by the spotlights above this make-believe beach studio, and felt good on his sand-rubbed feet. He had been modeling the new swimwear of Laguna Fashions all day, and thought he might be a bit too tired for the important business he had to attend to tonight.
The last few days have been rather stressful, and make him less eager to get ready than on other evenings. He had been getting these weird letters all week. From “Don’t forget about our agreement” to “Pay up or face the consequences” and the latest, strangest one, reading simply: “You might think us clowns, but you haven’t got a clue yet just how funny we can be!”
None of these were signed, but he knew who was responsible. He had borrowed money from those back street types a few months ago. He had to get his portfolio ready, needed the cash for a new car, etcetera. His mom had warned him of his being such a spendthrift, but all would be well in a few days: he got this contract going and he would be getting the necessary dough at the end of next week.
This new contract might be the start of something great, as the Laguna photographers had told him they could always use his fashionable Italian type: slightly muscular, and delicate-featured. What could these guys do to him anyway? He had stalled the payment a few times already, and they hadn’t done anything yet. The truth is, these thoughts didn’t bring him any comfort. The notes might indicate they did mean business.
After he had gotten ready, he drove straight to the shady house of Zoltan Roldic.
This guy had a tough reputation, but he delivered all kinds of amounts no-questions-asked. Jeff’s pal Carl never mentioned what happened to those guys who couldn’t pay up the extra costs afterwards, but Mr. Roldic seemed a reasonable man. It was just best to forget about the drugs and stuff Carl told he might be into. Jeff would go in, tell him he would get the money by next Thursday, meet his end of the agreement then, and never meet those kinds of bad-asses again.
He rang the door a bit nervously, and didn’t have to wait too long for it to be answered. A tall man in a suit, no doubt one of the so-called “goons”, opened and beckoned him to follow. They went through a long sparsely lighted corridor, and passed a padded door behind which the sound of faint giggles could be heard. Jeff wondered about it for about 0.5 seconds, as the odor of pot that seemed to hang in the entire house pointed directly at some spaced-out stoner in a characteristic laughing fit. None of his business, and if he pretended not to notice no cops could blame him for being involved afterwards.
The tall man brought him to the well-decorated office of Mr. Roldic, full of woodcraft, which he probably brought along from his native Albania. Roldic rose briefly and told him to have a seat. Jeff obliged, and smiled nervously.
“ Now tell me, Mr. Guili, have you finally managed to collect the funds to repay me for my generosity?”
“ Well umm …Sir, I’m afraid not, but I’ve got this shoot going now. I’ll have the necessary cash on Thursday, so if you could just be patient for another…”
At this Roldic’s features tensed.
“ No, ‘I could not be patient for another’! I’ve been patient with you long enough, Mr. Guili. I suggest we might give you some slight encouraging not to mess with me anymore!”
He signaled to the tall man who pulled Jeff out of the chair in a chokehold, and dragged him through the hallway to the room where the giggles were coming from. They opened the door and didn’t find any of the suspected stoners inside. A boy of about sixteen years old lay panting on a table. He seemed tightly strapped to it and was barefoot. A man holding a feather stood at the end of the table, but had subsisted whatever he was doing when the door had opened. Roldic entered together with us.
“ That’s enough Timur, we have bigger fish to fry right now!”
The addressed man laid down the feather and proceeded to release the boy, who jumped op and grabbed his socks and sneakers that lay next to the table on the floor, and was quick to say to Roldic:
“ Thank you Sir, I swear I’ll never steal any of your stuff again!”
“ Yeah yeah, fuck off for now, and remember: next time I’ll leave you here for six hours!”
That threat seemed to do the trick as the boy ran off quickly. The two goons now put the struggling Jeff on the table, and tightly secured the leather straps. It was no use fighting back as they were far stronger than he was, though he wasn’t a weak man himself.
“ What are you going to do to me?”
Roldic circled the table with a mysterious look on his face. The first he came at Jeff’s feet he pulled of one shoe, and second time the other.
Then he turned back; in the first circle he took off one sock and during the second the other. Jeff started to be very nervous. He had been putting two and two together in his mind, but although it was pretty obvious couldn’t believe they were going to do THAT to him. He twitched his toes a bit, and flexed his high-arched soles a bit, embarrassed by their new nakedness. He kept them in perfect condition since he had to do those shots for a course book on foot reflexology. The photographer, who always seemed to take an extra interest in the pictures in which his soft soles faced the camera, has whispered something distracted about “perfection”.
“ You know Mr. Guili, it’s hard to be a mobster these days. We can’t encourage our clients to meet their end of the bargain as easy as we used to. People run off to the cops that easily today that we have to come up with methods that don’t provide any physical evidence. Luckily I come from a community with a long tradition in making people sorry…”
He went to a small briefcase and took something out that Jeff couldn’t make out.
“ We belief in hearty relations, and a model like yourself will enjoy our delicate care for the more sensitive body parts. In case you haven’t guessed: where going to show you just how ticklish your are!”
Jeff turned pale. It was what he had guessed! He didn’t need any showing here; he knew he WAS horribly ticklish. When he was doing the shots for the reflexology book he always had to ask the lady not to move about her fingers too much, and he still believed he had done the entire photo shoot with an agonized grimace
“ Please Mr. Roldic, Sir, I swear this won’t be necessary, I will deliver the money on Thursday like I said and-“
Roldic interrupted him: “I bet you will!”
He now showed Jeff what he was holding: a stiff-bristled paintbrush that he couldn’t use for detailed jobs on the canvas, but which was perfect for locating sensitive spots on bare soles. He started lightly dusting Jeff’s big toes. There was that grimace again! Jeff bit his lower lip, then both his lips, not to let out his ticklishness too soon, but of no avail. By the time Roldic had started stroking the area where his toes connected with the sole, he was done for. He chuckled candidly, like a man remembering a dirty joke in church. Roldic greeted this with a sardonic grin. Jeff started to plead a bit:
“ He he hum, Mr. humhemhe Roldic, please let’s hehehehe talk this over.”
Roldic ignored this and used to brush on his soles now. The high arches made it seem to him like he was renovating some Roman cathedral, but one that was soon twitching in torment. When Roldic started to make the strokes steadier and harder, paying great attention to some of the most reactive spots, Jeff broke out in roaring laughter, interrupted with slight hiccups.
“ Hahahahehehe plea-hehehe-se, we-hehhe-r all re-he-rea-sonable me-hehehehe-n”
If he was, you couldn’t tell by the way Roldic was going about it now.
He started to get his fingers in. He played torturous upside-down piano concertos under Jeff’s left toes while dragging the brushes in nuanced strokes all across his right sole. From heel to toes, from toes to heels, and sometimes brushing along the side of his feet as well, or again giving the toes a fast and swirling dusting. Jeff was in hysterics when the feather kicked in as replacement to the brush. The gull it came from must have brought laughter to the winds.
“ Hahahahaha stop hehehehehehehehe!!!
Meanwhile the mobster’s fingers kept clawing at his toes and soles, and seemed focused on prolonging the laughter now it had reached a climax. This was one skilled tickler. The movements of his fingers where part of a strict and effective choreography, they never delved in too deep as to avoid missing the upper nerves that dealt with ticklish sensation but found a perfect balance between speed and reserve. A match made in hell for Jeff. He was starting to black out, saw all kinds of colors dance in front of his eyes, and his laughter became more and more automatically. He welcomed the thought of passing out and just then:
“ Aha, let’s hold it for a while. We’re loosing our young gentleman!”
When was he going to get out of here???
