marching powder

He didn't bring enough gold out of the mine, so they beat him. They didn't beat him up, they just beat him. Two beaters, a division of labor. Two beaters on the payroll. He could have brought a lot more gold out of the mine, that was obvious. The quota had been arrived at by the company's human resource man.

He wasn't beaten up and he wasn't beaten down. Only beaten. Not with fists, the company could be liable for injury, knuckles break all the time. No, he was just beaten. A solution was arrived upon. There's a science to it. Incentives, that's how the economy works. There is no alternative. And aren't you too tired and unsure of yourself to change things? What if your changes made things worse? What if this is the best of all possible worlds? And it is, by the way.

He had a job at least, and a wife. Unfortunately, this means he still had things to lose. After another beating, he was taken to the house of the foreperson. The foreperson was getting settled, making a home for himself and his family. His house was situated so that it would remain immune from the ecological consequences of the mine. The balcony overlooked the rainforest slope. The foreperson loved that slope. Most people did. There was something about the angle.

Carlos didn't care for the slope. He could take it or leave it. He was bound and gagged and placed under a bed. The foreperson came inside the bedroom. A familiar sound trailed him. It was a sound, not a voice, but Carlos recognized the woman it belonged to in seconds. It was her breath, sharp. That sultry singer of icaros. Carlos' wife with her ready-for-sex breath. Yes, she was ready.

The foreperson threw her onto the bed. The mattress sank onto Carlos - it felt soft and reminded him of childhood - then sprung up again as the foreperson climbed onto Angela. He crouched there, deciding what to tear off first. Or tear into. He was still learning how to deal with Angela. Shirt on, pants off. That wild, half-clothed fuck, yes, he bet that was how Carlos fucked her, because even though she had decent tits, they didn't do it for him for some reason. Tear into.

There was a commotion above the bed. They were wasting no time. Angela was mostly silent. Carlos studied the foreperson's rhythm. He had a unique style.

"You know he's here, you little whore?" Carlos said, nearing orgasm.

"What? Mmmph. Who?" Angela moaned.

"Him, that labourer of yours. Haha. Oh. Mmm. Yeah, he's under the bed!"

"Carlos?"

This can't be happening... again, Carlos thought. This must be a series of hallucinations.

"Again? You - oh - you put him down there again? W - why?"

"Because - uhh... aaaaaarrrrrrrrrrgh!"

The mattress hit Carlos' head again. He wished his hands weren't bound so he could masturbate. Get some enjoyment out of this, somehow, at the very least. Why not?

"Because it gets me off, bitch!"

"Oh."

There was a little more creaking, the foreperson enjoying his location. This wound down, and he pulled out. Angela breathed one of her alto sighs.

"Carlos?"

"Shut up," the foreperson said.

"Carlos?"

Carlos tried to yell through his gag and managed a decent enough gagged yell, but this was buried by a loud smacking sound.

"Carlos?"

"Why do you keep yelling to him? I'll just keep smacking you."

"It gets me off, boss."

"What? Bullshit. You're not one of those cunts, I know..."

"No, calling to Carlos. That gets me off."

"Oh... Well, let's get him out then, eh? He's had a hard day at work, I'm sure he'd love to see you."

The foreperson dragged Carlos out from under the bed by his feet.

“Oh… my. Carlos,” Angela said.

"Afraid our day wasn't very productive though, was it?" the foreperson said as he untied the ropes. Then he removed the gag. “Nope, well under quota. This must be slack off season. Or jack off season.” He let out a high pitched chuckle. “Myself, I’ve been sleeping two, three hours a night. Well, you can get up now. Work’s over.”

Carlos got up, whiskey-soaked cigarette butts sticking to his back. “Angela. Fuck. How are you?” he asked.

“I’m… good. I drank some tea an hour ago. I feel okay.”

They embraced, Angela still bottomless with a sticky leg. The foreperson pried them apart.

“None of that you two. You can hug on your own time. Not in my… FUCKING house. Got it?”

“Yes,” they both said.

“Especially after such a lousy day. I’m gonna get it from the company at the end of this fiscal year, you can be assured. None of your hugging, it makes me sick. Fuck, I need a drink. An after work drink. Yes.” He swerved toward the mini-fridge.

“Boss?” Carlos asked.

“What?”

“Um, I don’t suppose. I know I’m not allowed to drink, but do you have any more of that…”

“I always have more of that,” the foreperson said. “If that’s what you want, it’s in the usual place. Just know I’m keeping tabs and it comes out of your wage.”

“Oh. Sweet.” Carlos flashed Angela a look of joy and scurried behind the foreperson’s desk to rip open the middle drawer. The foreperson laughed explosively and said: “Yup, you sure know where to look.”

Carlos produced a bag.

“Ange, are you having some?”

“I don’t know, I… drank some tea a half hour ago.”

“C’mon, I’ve been working all day, I want to get high with my wife. It’s funner with you.”

“Oh, I guess. You have had a hard day.”

“Not too productive though,” the foreperson said. “But shagging your girl at the end of it kinda half makes up for it.” He slapped Angela on her bare ass, loud enough to startle Carlos. After looking back toward them, he began dumping piles of cocaine onto the slope of a green binder on the desk and chopping them up. The foreperson blasted laughter again.

“You look so… fucking… RIDICULOUS, sitting in my chair! I’d tell you to get your ass off it, but it’s too funny!”

Angela chuckled, faintly.

“And you’re drawing up lines on a binder? What the fuck? Hahaha. Of all places, you choose a tilted surface?”

“It’ll work,” Carlos said.

“Well, draw that up and meet me and Angela in the TV room. We can watch the news or something. Or she could sing icaros. Naw, let’s just watch TV. And I’ll have some of that flake, too.”

“Okay,” Carlos said. “By the way, I never got your name.”

“Why now then?” The foreperson said. “Now is not the time.”