The Shady House of Zoltan Roldic
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???
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