Visiting the McIntoshs

"What is it that bothers you, Mr McIntosh?"

He faltered at first, but then coughed it up:

"There might be something true about that poisoning, I'm afraid..."

Why couldn't for once -- for once! -- a plan work out as it was supposed to be?! He turned to the bound and gagged Riona, studying her authoritarian features for any hints of bluffing.

"Seriously now, Mrs McIntosh, have you been a bad girl?"

~

It had already dawned on Riona during Tick's little speech that it might have been a mistake to inform her husband of the facts. These three paddies had further plans with Alistair and her, plans her excursion into herbal lore was thwarting.

"Seriously now, Mrs McIntosh, have you been a bad girl?"

He stepped over to remove the accursed S&M ball, yet paused with his hands already at the nape of her neck.

"Once more: no cursing nor yelling. Fool me twice, further disciplinary measures will be ahead."

Then Mr Tick opened -- much to her relief -- the buckle. She worked her jaws to get some feeling back in. Damn, that gag was really serious!

"I assume you want to tell me something..."

"Anything special in mind?"

"How about the antidote?"

"Yes, where's that fucking antidote?!" came from behind Tick's back.

"Mr McIntosh, please. I reckon your gorgeous wife will be far more responsive if she is not yelled at," the leader expounded, then addressed Riona again: "May I trouble you for some milk?"

"Sure", she answered nonchalantly, predicting what he was up to. As far as she knew it would only speed things up.

"Milk against poisoning? Isn't that just some sort of an urban legend?"

"Absolutely not, Mr McIntosh. An uncle of mine -- for obvious reasons I cannot name names -- accidently swallowed a fatal combination of pharmaceuticals once and drank milk to hamper the agents from taking effect."

"And he survived?"

"No. He died of food poisoning, because the milk was way beyond its expiry date. But my point stands."

A wedge of light fell across the tiles as Tick opened the refrigerator and took one of the milk bottles out.

"Ah, the good glass ones...!"

He removed the cap, but made no attempt to free at least one of his host's hands. Instead, he brought the bottle towards Alistair's mouth.

"The whole bottle?"

"It is in your own interest."

With a trifle of morbid fascination Riona watched her husband slowly emptying the bottle. Some drops ran down his chin, fell on his shirt, tie and waistcoat. If she wasn't mistaken, the milk fat would carry the poison more quickly into his system. But who was she to contradict Mr Tick's late uncle?

The leader put the empty bottle into the sink.

"That should buy us some time. Yet I have to express my determination to receive this elusive antidote of yours at short notice, Mrs McIntosh."

Riona tilted her head.

"What makes you all think there's an antidote? There simply isn't." She looked past the leader to Alistair: "You are dead meat. Just take it like a man."

"You are lying!" he shouted. If he didn't believe her one word, why did he keep asking?

"I find myself in agreement with Mr McIntosh. You strike me as too calculating a woman to tamper with lethal substances and having no worst case plan..."

Well, there was no denying.

"...so any subtle hint about said antidote is very much welcomed."

"Sorry, no can do. Would spoil the fun."

Alistair now seemed to somewhat losing it, much to her satisfaction. His resulting demand, however, did not find her approval at all.

"What are you still beating about the bush?! Just shove that damn electro shocker up her minge!"

"Nay. Torturing a woman brings bad luck," Mr Trick knew.

"Not as much as marrying one. Cut me loose, I'll make it myself!"

"I am appreciating your enthusiasm to aid in this gridlocked situation, albeit the outlines of your suggestion counteract our modus operandi."

Her husband groaned, yet Riona was far from being relieved. She very well saw that she was running out of options. Whatever amount of money -- or equivalent of said -- waited within that bloody safe deposit box, it was the true reason for their visit and enough to render their current loot small change. As Alistair had put it in his idiotic speech after tying her up: Sooner than later things might turn ugly. So she decided to play it tough and take what she could get.

"I could tell you... under one condition."

"And what would that be?"

"Rape him."

Alistair's head jerked up in disbelieve. And it was the first time Mr Tick's eyes shown genuine incomprehension.

"I beg your pardon, Mrs McIntosh. Did you just formulate the sodomisation of your husband to be a condition of your cooperation?"

"I'm not asking you to sodomise him. I want you to rape him up the arse like a prison bitch."

Alistair, to no surprise, reared at that -- no pun intended.

"You are sick! What the fuck is wrong with you?! And you're still wondering why I tried to snuff you?!"

"You guys have got serious issues," Mr Track stated.

"I'm still marvelling how you managed not to electrocute yourself, killer!" Riona hissed at Alistair, ignoring Track's interjection.

Mr Tick, in an attempt to lead the conversation back to a professional level, raised his voice underneath the balaclava.

"Mrs McIntosh's suggestion indeed needs a fair amount of consideration. So I trust you will excuse us for some moments..."

He beckoned Mr Trick and Mr Track to follow him into the living room.

~

"No way I'm doing that batty boy crap! Does that bitch take us for fucking poofs?!"

Whilst Mr Track's outburst showed an emotionally charged position, Mr Trick approached the situation in a more rational way, shrugging his broad shoulders:

"I would do it for the money, but not with her watching. I'm uncomfortable with somebody watching."

Mr Tick, however, saw no way to assist.

"Alas, I have to withdraw myself from this task, for I am in a steady relationship. Sexual intercourse of any kind with a third party would be considered cheating. And we just witnessed what the loss of trust can do to a marriage."

"We can bring him here and make some sounds, so the crazy bitch thinks her hubby is taking it up the arse," Track suggested, but found his leader in disagreement.

"Wouldn't that add too burlesque a touch to our operation?"

~

"They are discussing the order."

And louder, making sure the three burglars heard her, too, Riona added:

"The one with the largest cock goes first for maximum effect!"

Alistair, for obvious reasons eager to keep up with his wife, countered:

"Hey, don't let her talk you into anything! Put her arse on the gas cooker and get me the fucking antidote! Then it's the bank tomorrow, and we'll all be happy!"

"You are sounding worried, honey..." she smirked.

"Worried? Why would I be worried? They are not gone pulling straws. Right now these half-wits are debating how to fry your traitorous arse."

She scoffed.

"Just keep that canty attitude," Alistair continued. "All I have to do is sit on this chair and watch them strappado the antidote out of you."

With venom in her voice Riona hissed back:

"If they are in the mood, and I reckon whatever is in that box will see to that, they will nut up your arse within three minutes. I, on the other hand, am pretty sure that I can resist anything they come up with at least half an hour. Do the math! They cannot effort wasting time on me."

"Half an hour? You will cry like a school girl the moment they lay hand on you!"

"Says the one who is about to get..." she clicked her tongue. "I hope it will be the sturdy one!"

"Seriously, you need professional help. To find out where that deviance originates from. I'm just curious. Something in your childhood?"

"Whoa, that's rich, coming from a man who intends to torture me to death! But if you must know: That's for all the times you tried to bugger me! 'Deepen our fucking relationship?!' 'Explore a new level of fucking intimacy?!' You wish!"

"At least I did try to improve our relationship. And to keep it from turning into... something like this."

"Are you telling that blonde slut the same shit, too? Did she already bend over for you, you pervert?! Now you can improve your relationship with Huey, Dewey and Louie."

Like on command, Tick, Trick and Track entered the kitchen. Whilst Stocky was lingering in the background and Mr Track helping himself to a Heineken from the refrigerator, the leader leant self-importantly against the island from where he had a good view on both his hosts. Riona bent forwards to Alistair as far as her bonds allowed it:

"Squeal like a pig!"

Mr Tick cleared his throat, then spoke up.

"We had come to a decision which will ensure the cooperation of either of you alike."

She almost had pity with Alistair. To be brutally honest, multiple homosexual anal rape hadn't been the thing she had wished for him at their wedding day. But he could be such a wimp! Riona was very well aware of her questionable fondness of quarrelling and what effect it had on a person so in need of harmony as Alistair. One harsh word of hers, and he caved in, which only enraged her even more. If she thought about it, his stunt with that stupid electro shocker had been the first time he actually had been standing up to her ever.

"Thing is," Track continues, "we are not prone to uphill gardening. Hence we decided to not touch Mr McIntosh inappropriately. Which, sadly, brings us to the topic of encouraging Mrs McIntosh to reveal the nature of the antidote by other means."

Riona felt the sudden urge to swallow. Maybe the squealing would be hers to do.

~

Ro suddenly did not look so smug anymore. Well, she had it coming. Why did she always have to be so damn stubborn?! Not enough that the wife he once had hoped to live with happily ever after despised him. She was also determined to see him dead. And yet: Why wasn't he able to just lean back and enjoy the show? He wasn't the sick bastard she was taking him for; if he was honest to himself, he had never intended to torture her to death -- he just had wanted to torture her a little bit and then kill her normally. He would have been in control of what would have happened to Ro. But now that trio was in charge, and he felt downright cuckolded. After all, to torment one's significant other was an intimate act. To get the antidote was imperative, but Alistair would rather see his wife giving it to him by her own free will. He fought the thought that followed next, right behind. But his mental struggle was in vain, and another worry sank into his mind.

What if the three blokes screw up in their attempt to make her talk? Cutting a finger off or taking a razor blade to her eye?

She had been right all along, he scolded himself. What a pathetic wimp he was! Hoping they would go easy on the bitch who had vexed and poisoned him!

However, the leader had obviously decided for a different approach.

"Mr Track, please hand me the mobile phones over, would you be so kind?"

Track received the two smartphones from the kitchen table, where they had been deposited after considered unworthy to be stowed in his pal's duffle bag.

"Matching background pictures -- how romantic..."

He acquainted with the devices before continuing.

"Alas, once holding the antidote in hands, we have to administer it to Mr McIntosh at once, judging by Mrs McIntosh's continuing innuendoes. Which will leave us in dire lack of any leverage once he will have entered the bank and thus eluded our reach."

In spite of Mr Tick's verbose statement Alistair still failed to see where things were heading to. So he was left slightly confused when the leader first shot a picture of him with Riona's mobile phone and then turned to her.

"Would you please have a look at the directory?" Tick asked whist holding the second phone, Alistair's, in front of her face.

"Which of these persons listed only with their first names do you reckon to be your husband's closest friend?"

Riona eyed him suspiciously.

"Why?"

"Trust me: This is far more civilised than the alternatives."

She kept gazing at him, but finally, without looking at the display, did answer.

"Try Ewan."

Tick tampered with both devices for a moment.

"Ewan just received a picture of his best friend tied to a chair, Mrs McIntosh, sent from your phone -- of course with some gleeful lines in your name so he isn't going to take it seriously and call the police. Pray imagine, however, what would happen if he were to learn about Alistair's untimely demise! Surely both he and the authorities would see said picture in a different light."

Loopy plan, Alistair had to admit, although not entirely sure what to tell Ewan.

"Same question to you, Mr McIntosh."

"Why me? Just get me that bloody antidote!"

"Your wife will be feeling more comfortable knowing that you cannot murder her either, once you've got it."

"Well, I would be feeling more comfortable looking forward to it."

"Yet my associates and I appreciate if no homicide at all is connected to our operation -- on that point your wife was right."

"No way, she's in for it. That, or I send the coppers back here the moment I walk into that bank."

"Where they will find your spouse, eager to testify against you on attempt murder. And it goes without saying that she will mention the box and its content as well since she cannot access it."

Fuck.

"Just keep in mind -- and that goes for both of you: It will be easier to explain these pictures to your respective friends with both of you alive than to the police with one of you dead. Everybody gained sufficient insight?"

Loopy plan indeed...

"So, Mr McIntosh," the leader requested, "any preferences concerning the next photograph's receiver?"

Alistair frowned, but then chuckled dryly. If nothing else, he could at least have his fun with that.

"Shannon."

Opposite him Riona groaned, knowing just as well as he did that she would never hear the end of it once Shannon would have seen a picture like that.

"At least take that pervy ball gag off my neck!"

Much to Alistair's disappointment Mr Tick did her the favour and put the contraption onto the island. Again there was a fake shutter click. Satisfied with himself, the leader stepped back and handed the phones to Mr Track who was still enjoying his beer.

"You heard the man, Ro. Are you going to tell me about the poison now?"

Riona took her time, raising her chin, checking the spotlessness of the stainless steel extractor hood, then sighed and looked at him as if he were but a miserable creature, not capable of getting anything straight without her help.

"Okay, if I must..."

"And?"

"And what, honey?"

"Riona!"

She met his unduly haste with a deep groan.

"Alsangania."

"Bloodroot?" Tick enquired.

"Yes."

"You poisoned me with Bloodroot?!"

"I never noticed this kitchen to have an echo," she snarled back.

~

Apparently Alistair had heard a story or two about the rigours of Bloodroot poisoning. He was ghastly pale as he spoke again:

"Okay, that's not cool anymore, Ro. Just give me the antidote."

As a woman of very keen sense for details, it amused her how her drunkard of a husband was headlessly switching between her real name and her nickname. When he had called her Ro earlier this night, it might have been out of scotch-supported sereneness or even high spirits. Now it was the desperate try to call upon the remains of that battered bond between them. As desperate as underlining the gravity of the situation by calling her Riona. She would push it a little further, maybe watching him start cramping up.

"Say 'pretty pleasie please'."

"Seriously, Mrs McIntosh, you have had your fun," urged Tick, and Stocky came forth to position himself uncomfortably close to Alistair's snuff kit.

Spoilsports.

"The medicine cabinet in the master bathroom. You want the vial on the top shelf."

"Mr Track, if you be so kind..."

Track reluctantly put his beer on the counter and headed for the door. She heard him trudging up the stairs and opening doors on the first floor. After a short period of near silence, his voice droned down into the kitchen.

"Which one again?"

Riona rolled her eyes and shouted back: "The one labelled 'Antidote -- do not give to Alistair'."

She casted a sidelong glance at the leader.

"It's hard to find competent personnel nowadays, isn't it?"

"Thank you for pointing that out, Mrs McIntosh."

To her utmost surprise, Track returned with the correct item: a small flask which she had fitted with a random label to make it look a bit like a perfume sample as well as to seal it off -- just in case hubby became nosy.

"This one?"

She nodded. A movement she did not find as difficult as she had reckoned to. In fact, it wasn't so much Alistair getting away that annoyed her, but Tick having bested her. In the light of this it was only suitable that he himself claimed the honour to instil the potion, after surgically dissecting the seal with the box cutter from the counter. Alistair gulped the clear liquid down and made a sour face from its strong taste. So her unfaithful, sexually deviant husband wouldn't die by her hand. How disappointing.

"And now?" asked Track.

"Now we will wait," he got as an answer from his leader. "Actually, now that so many an obstacle has been finally overcome, I reckon we may have reason to raise glasses."

"Yeah! But not with this green piss."

He shoved the empty beer bottle away.

"Eh, eh, eh. Please do not forget to rinse your saliva off it."

Mr Track mewled, yet did as he was bidden. Meanwhile, Stocky disappeared into the living room, only to show up again with a nearly full spirit bottle. His keen eyes must have caught sight of the house bar long ago.

"Ah, very good, Mr Trick," the leader praised, "very good indeed!"

He took the loot from his "associate" to study the label

"Lowland malt, triple distilled -- adequate."

"Oi, that's the last bottle I've got!" clamoured Alistair, turning his head this way and that in an attempt to see what was going on behind his back.

Neither he nor any one of their unwelcomed guests noticed Riona's eyes flickering sideways to the empty whisky bottle still standing on the island. The one her husband had drunk from all night. Not that it mattered any more. She had already recognised the grey label on the nearly full one Tick was still examining so cheerfully. Auchentoshan Classic. The one from the bar. The one personally seasoned with Bloodroot. The one Alistair had never taken because that borderline alcoholic had had a secret stash! Perhaps in the garage. Probably in his car. He had come home with his back-up bottle and only went to the bar for a glass. The whole evening he had poisoned himself with nothing but alcohol!

Mr Tick unscrewed the bottle and filled the three glasses Trick had also brought. (Riona had waited with the refinement until Alistair had opened it for the first time, so he would not be able to tell that someone had messed with it.)

She had to think quickly now. One shot. Whom to take out? Quick! Alistair would not drink anything anymore, that's for sure. They were about to drink, though. Good. No, bad!

Tick handed the glasses around.

Bad when not usable against them. Her mind played and dismissed variants like during a game of chess. Alistair again, then -- Tick's mobile phone principle: Hard to explain to the police with one of us dead, how he had put it. Yet trying to wheedle her husband into drinking would make them suspicious. Think, Riona! What would not make them suspicious? Her eyes focussed on Alistair, sitting on his chair, spots of milk dried on his waistcoat.

"What about me?"

"What about you, Mrs McIntosh?" requested Tick.