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***
Finally calming, a more composed Escobar is led out of the bedroom, guardia Maria close behind.
“Renee is no longer of use to me,” Ramona offers, out of hearing range. “I prefer fresh bait. There’s a young male in Singapore visiting the doctor tomorrow. I am predicting another diagnosis of testicular cancer. Thereafter it’s on to Macao... another trap... another payday. But more importantly, I so much enjoy games. Do you like games, Pablo?”
“Like guessing how long before death overcomes that I can torment and torture those who betray me?” he sneers.
Ramona laughs... such emphatic vitriol.
“No, I was thinking of engaging in a little detective game. For another $200,000 I will offer a clue... where to find Renee. When the funds are received, I can email you.”
Escobar moves to the door and turns.
“When I find him, I’ll have what little remains of his machismo removed with a blowtorch... slowly,” he hisses.
Ramona laughs, Maria smiles.
“I believe Pablo, that if you put your own machismo aside, Renee can probably benefit your cause. Quite obedient, as you are aware... eager to please. The gender thing could be used to your advantage.”
Maria steps forth to unlock and open the door as Ramona returns to the sitting room.
“I prefer the hot knife,” she in turn hisses into Escobar’s ear. “Much more close and personal,” her hand lowering, a powerful grasp brazenly closing over the pubes area of the merciless drug lord.
Escobar
shows not any pain, instead stepping out to release himself.
“We’ll meet again,” he sneers.
“You won’t enjoy the experience,” Maria counters.
Part Three
New York, New York
Renee/Robert Warren
I am cut off. I am rebuffed by my counselor’s secretary, every call suggesting the appointment book is filled.
Other calls to the doctor’s office to make an appointment there end with a reminder that the last bill remains unpaid and I will need to bring a check if I am to visit again. The balance, over $1,000, is considerable for me. Numbers oriented, it quickly dawns that even should I pay and bring myself even, I cannot possibly afford future visits.
So Nurse Sueann... her gloved hand... her penetrating fingers... become a thing of the past.
I am disheartened to report that after the departure of Pablo Escobar, Miss Maria plucked away the diamond earrings, those I planned to have appraised. I was then told to dress, leave the Waldorf apartment and that I would be best served by forgetting the address and all that occurred there.
The humdrum of work drums onward. There is sort of a standoff. I detect that Mr. Thompson and management are constantly conspiring in an effort to have me terminated without triggering one or more of the several laws which protect the likes of me from discrimination. Fortunately with doctor’s and counselor’s appointments a thing of the past, absenteeism and unreliability are off the table. And in my solitude, my productivity seems enhanced.
My penis, freed from the guiche piercing for that final encounter with Escobar, was not returned to the locked position. Strangely, I could not become re-accustomed to having the little thing flop about. Seeing it there... well, it seemed to irritate and confuse my feminine psyche. Plus in tight panties it bulged... however slightly... but it bulged. So unsightly...
So within days I laid knees high and spread, mirror in hand and reconnected the small Prince Albert ring with the guiche using a thin cable tie. I pulled, tightening to return the tip to its hiding place, then snipped away the loose end.
Unlike the tiny padlock, I can free myself with scissors or wire cutters, but to what end?
I continue taking the estrogen, not wishing to incur the unknown effect of stopping. And something very curious occurred when weeks after the Escobar encounter, a small package arrived in the mail, return address a post office box. I opened and discovered a fresh supply of pills.
Someone was being very thoughtful. But whom?
I have no desire to restock my wardrobe, replacing that which Miss Lalique sent down the garbage chute. I think about it... but it does not happen... the thought of trying on clothes in a men’s store is incongruous. Instead I indulge in about the only thing I have left from the strange affair, the extensive collection of fine apparel bestowed by my benefactress.
