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A snicker made Ketcham realize that no one was going to take the jacket from him. He let it slip from his fingers.
Ketcham next removed his necktie, and tried to drop that on top of his suit jacket. Then he pushed his braces off his shoulders, loosened the snap and opened the fly of his trousers, and somewhat awkwardly removed his trousers, which he then attempted to drop atop his jacket, tie, and shirt.
“I won’t be able to remove my undershirt,” he began, trying to sound as polite and reasonable as possible.
Ketcham was then struck upon the face again, which caused him to lose his balance and fall backward onto the floor.
“What he means,” a new voice said, “is that he can’t get his undershirt off without taking the overcoat off his head.”
“Fuck the undershirt, then,” the first, now familiar voice replied. “Take off your shorts and your shoes and socks.”
Ketcham complied. He was now naked save for the overcoat over his head and upper body, and his undershirt, sitting on the floor. The floor was cold.
From its consistency, Ketcham decided the cold floor was concrete, which tended to buttress his suspicion that he was in a garage, or a factory of some sort.
“Get up,” the familiar voice ordered.
Ketcham complied.
“Hold your hands out in front of you, together,” the familiar voice added.
Ketcham complied, and almost immediately felt his wrists again being tied together.
There was a short burst of derisive laughter.
“Christ, look at his
cock,” a third voice, previously unheard, said. “Angelina’s Chihuahua’s got a bigger cock.”
There were chuckles of agreement.
“Shut your fucking mouth!” the familiar voice said.
I will remember that when this is over and I’m out of here, Ketcham decided with some satisfaction. One of these thugs has a wife, or girlfriend, named Angelina, who has a Chihuahua.
Then nothing happened, except for what Ketcham believed to be the sound of shuffling feet, and what could have been the sound of the door being closed.
It was cold wherever he was, and Ketcham felt himself start to shiver.
That should really please the thug who thinks my penis is funny, when he sees me standing here naked and shivering.
I will not lose control. I will wait until whatever is going to happen happens.
Five minutes later, very carefully, Ketcham uttered one word.
“Hello?”
There was no reply.
Thirty seconds after that, Ketcham spoke again:
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
There was no reply.
Obviously, there is no one here. If there was, and I was not supposed to have spoken, they would have hit me again.
Will someone be coming back?
