Kittys Bazaar

By j st.daniel

Kitty's Bazaar is about a girl who was abused as a child who comes back to find her abuser and exact revenge no matter the cost and the danger she is about to put herself in. Kitty's the moth and she's into the flame...read how she escapes with her life and takes care of a few powerful shits in the process. This is Kitty's introduction to the New World Order.

Kitty's Bazaar is a triumphant story of a tortured girl, caught up in a power struggle with the Criminal Elite, a victim who decides to fight back, even if it kills her.

At Kitty's Bazaar, known as the Museo De Tortura, strange things can be got and sometimes people got DEAD.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: j st.daniel
• Release date: Aug 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215453926

j st.daniel

I was a muscian, playing in bands...then I turned to Photography and living in LA, I had sucess shooting all kinds of beautiful models and "wanna be" actresses needing portfolios...then after years of these things, I suddenly wrote a book? Why, I still don't understand. So, here it is and I hope you are interested enough to check out KITTY who is by no means ordinary. A tale of hell in the New World Order! A thriller to the end...

Book preview

Kitty's Bazaar, a tale of hell in the New World Order.

AUTHOR J ST DANIEL

CHAPTER ONE                                                                        SCENE ONE

IT’S THE JOURNEY WHICH enlightens, not the destination.

JANUARY 1995

In a secluded, chic warehouse section of Foggy Bottom DC, El Museo de Tortura finally opened its doors to the public. Catherine Milagros Gonzalez, proprietor, sat back satisfied, knowing that now it would all begin. There aren’t very many museums dedicated to the subject of torture, but she was more than confident that she had done the right thing. After all, she had quite a bit of experience in the area of pleasure and pain and who knows, she would probably learn a bit more as time goes on. Extremely proud of the job she had done in selecting the most captivating torture devices for her Museo, Catharine, aka: Kitty, could now relax and await the exclusive pleasure seekers she has anticipated will quietly seek out her museum for reasons she is well acquainted with.             

Torture has become an art-form of sorts, after five thousand years of civilization, but in few areas of life, except sports, do pleasure and pain predominate as an essential part of the activity. In the back of every mind there is a finite awareness of life's duality and the dichotomy of what is referred to as the pleasure/pain principle. Some are merely intrigued by it, while others can't relate without it.

Torture during the inquisition, was perpetrated upon an unwilling subject, its purpose questionable. Significantly, in these modern times, we have the witting subject or victim and both torturer and subject have a need and derive a purpose from the activity.

Although, Kitty has her reasons for opening a museum dedicated to torture, she has little interest in these monstrous devices; it's the men who are attracted to torture, control, pain and helplessness that interest Kitty, while learning exactly which type of man is compelled to want to experience his own humiliation and pain.

At the onset of her discovering, Kitty was shocked to discover which ilk of man will subject himself, on a regular basis to being bound, reproached, slapped, demeaned, violated, rebuked, debased and injured, amongst other things less savory. This Medieval equipment was originally crafted and designed to cause extreme pain to the point of death, for political reasons, such as God and country, to elicit the truth from would be assassins or other treacherous persons. Nonetheless, in this modern world, Kitty knows that this torturous gear still maintains a fascination and is in demand by many diverse people bent on discovering some bizarre truth about themselves. All that aside, what concerns Kitty is her agenda, her ultimate reason for associating with these horrid artifacts of the Inquisition. Born under a bad sign... as the song goes. There's the underbelly of humanity, sometimes referred to as the demi monde, with its bizarre trappings and psuedo religious rituals that intrigues Kitty. What fascinates her is not the devices, but the men who use them to torture others and then are compelled to have them used upon themselves. Kitty's obsession with deviant behavior and the dark side was born out of painful events in her life and a necessity to make amends, to get even, to follow through on a promise and to take someone down in a big way.

And, that someone she seeks is very interested in control and domination. He's a successful man at the top; powerful, cruel, merciless and vile. It's a pillar of society that Kitty must topple and she knows she will find him, attract him. She knows that it's her Museo that is the catalyst; that he is here in DC and that he will come, he will take the bait. Meanwhile, never did she anticipate that her modest museum would attract such a wide range of curiosity seekers, artisans, bondage freaks, professionals, lawyers, doctors, priests and cops, many with a superior knowledge of the subject of torture and the Inquisition. Kitty had no way of knowing that her little Museo would generate such interest in such a short time. She anticipated that news of her Museo would spread by word of mouth, but almost immediately she was inundated with calls and queries. Her first patrons were very curious, interested, pleased and at times intimidated by the display of human ingenuity and cruelty involved in creating these tortuous devices. All the better for Kitty, since she needed the business. She still had University graduate courses to pay for and of course, her investment in the museum. There was no way to determine how long it would take her to find her mark, but meanwhile, as long as there were offers to rent the Museo for special events and clients requesting private demonstrations, she knew she could live comfortably until such time when she did not need the museum any longer.      

Hello there! Are you the lil´darlin´ responsible for this here exhibition or might you be able to direct me to her?            

I might be said Kitty. Well then, you might be her or you might be able...      

I am she. Kitty’s the name and who might you be?      

Well, now that’s better. I’m Major General Harlan Pruitt Masters and I am most pleased to make your acquaintance. I heard about your lil’ tribute to man’s ingenuity in the art of communication through a friend, an aficionado of esoteric arts, Counsel Fuentes. You know him?                  

No, actually, I’m still new to this area, replied Kitty.            

Oh, really? said General Masters.

But you are an east coast gal, I take it...from your accent?      

Kitty replied hesitantly Connecticut, (she lied) Bristol.      

Well, I’m a Texan all my life. I don’t much travel ‘cept between my ranch and the Pentagon. But, I’m sure it’s a cozy lil’ place, like a lot of New England towns. So, what brings you to DC, lil’ darlin’, with your memorabilia and all?                        

Good question, General, said Kitty. Well, I’m studying for my masters at Georgetown and needed a means of income to get me thru until I graduate. Having studied Medieval and Renaissance History at Yale, I acquired a fascination for the trappings of the Inquisitors and the lengths they went to extract the truth from the Heretics. Although, under such pain, I’m quite sure most would admit to just about anything to stop the torture.                                    

I quite agree, said the Major General. Strange as it may seem, the business of information gathering still goes on and even though the methods have changed, we are always seeking new ways to extract the truth from our enemies. It’s a necessary evil that is still practiced at high levels of sophistication. It’s all part of the game we play as nations.            

I quite understand the predicament, General Masters, said Kitty, however, I know very little of modern methods used these days. It’s not a subject one can just pick up a book and read about.            

True, true, my friend, replied the General. However, it’s a subject I have extensive knowledge of, having done tours of duty in Guatemala, Viet Nam, Somalia, Desert Storm and various sundry forays with Special Ops. Nonetheless, I’m not at liberty to speak about this, as you probably know. Suffice it to say, things have come a long way since the days of twisting fingers.                              

Kitty nodded her head while deep in thoughts of her own.                  

Another time, perhaps, General Masters. Now, would you like me to show you around or do you wish to browse the exhibits on your own?       

But, of course, lil’ darlin’. Lead the way, replied the Major General.      

Never judge a book by its cover...                                    

These somewhat familiar apparatuses, one fixed and one portable are stocks", quite unlike the Wall Street type. It was the public scorn and abuse that hurt the most.

Next, we have the curaisse, a breastplate of amour surrounded by three locking bands which kept prisoners immobilized, arms pinned to the sides, while standing for days on end, suffering from extreme discomfort, no sleep, cramps and rat bites.

Masks of shame, were used to secure total the alienation of a person dragged through the streets and thusly assuring them of starvation upon their release.

Here we have the witch chairs, one more elaborate than the other. The sharp metal spikes all over would penetrate the skin and muscle tissue until the bones stopped them. The designed ensured the survival of the victim.

The infamous Virgin of Nuremberg, as you can see, is a standing coffin, lined with hundreds of spikes on all sides. Once encapsulated in the Virgin the spikes pierced the body in innumerable places, but were ingeniously placed as to not pierce the heart. Therefore, the tortured accused would live for days inside the Virgin, which got its name from the innocent image carved on the wooden outer shell."

Those devious devils, proclaimed the General. Perhaps, their ingenuity could still be put to use today. With all of our sophisticated methods, we are still not able to extract much in the way of secrets or information.            

Not hard to understand, General. Few of the innocent accused ever gave in to the torture and pain. After all, they couldn’t admit to something they didn’t do.

`Tis a quandary, lil’ darlin’.                                           

And, now I’m about to show you a fruitful device, called the pear. When closed and pear shaped, it would be inserted into the mouth, anus or vagina. When the tormentor turned the handle, the arms of the pear could expand up to nine inches, thus tearing apart the body cavity from the inside.             

A slick thing it is, my friend. But, highly effective, if I do say so myself.    

You probably recognize this metal belt?                         

No, not really.                                                      

Well, it was the precursor to the thong, it’s a chastity belt!"            

Oh, yeah! Now I can see the culprit for what she is.            

"They say that it was used sparingly for hygienic reasons.       

You could be right my friend.                                     

After accompanying the Major General on a personal tour of the exhibits, back at the entrance Kitty declared, They claim these devices were used to inflict a maximum of pain without intending to kill the accused. However, there were few Papal regulators monitoring the torture and of course, when things did go too far, some of the castles had a room far below, which had an opening that was directly above a river into which failed attempts were regularly deposited.

Out of sight out, of mind my friend. Neat and clean. Doesn’t always work that way in this modern world, unfortunately.             

Oh, no, general? You mean sometimes you have trouble disposing of bodies? Come now, lil’ darlin’, you’re talking about the military? War is war and there are no rules, my child. All diplomacy and civility go out the window. It’s survival of the fittest and it’s training that says who lives and who doesn’t. But, General, in war there are casualties, i.e. bodies, theirs and ours. What you do with them, is what I’m getting at?            

Well, Kitty you wouldn’t really want to know.                 

But, you’re wrong General, I am most interested in what you do with the bodies. After all, a dead body in the jungle is just as significant as one in an alley here, no?                         

Perhaps, yes and even though dead men don’t tell tails, a body is a liability and therefore must be disposed of. However, now we are getting into an area of classified Policy and Procedure.                   

Gotcha, General. It was only a question.                         

No harm done, Kitty. You seem to have a very inquisitive mind.       

That I do, General. Machinations, intrigue, mystery and deceit always have captured my imagination.                         

I can see you are a bit of a rebel, my lil’ inquisitor. Perhaps, one day we’ll indulge in a lil’ off the record discourse on some of these mysteries that you ponder, provided you swear to secrecy.             

On my honor, General. I would be more than willing to engage in a little surreptitious, militaristic speculation. Provided you aren’t afraid that you might offend my female ears.   Oh, don’t fret lil’ darlin’, I’m already aware that it would take more than a little behind the scenes, Co Op intrigue to shock you. Got that right, General, so bring me you very best or I won’t be a good audience.        

Oh, I have no doubt that I will keep you captivated, Kitty. And, until we meet again, let me just say this, if you yank my chain, I will break you in two. It’s been nice meeting you.   And with that, the Major General was gone, leaving in the air a threat and a promise. Kitty was neither alarmed nor anxious over the intent of his words. He was just another one of the many hollow, heralded power mongers trying to exact a measure of obedience from a threat of terror. Kitty had seen these same fearless types crumble in a heap on the floor, imploring torture and pain to alleviate the ghosts of their past, to obliterate the reminders of the vacant lives that they are forced to live; knowing that everything they have ever accomplished has been a hollow victory, an easy domination, a quick, unexpected kill, a deception, a lie.

These few and proud can no longer live with the shame of their weakness and can find no forgiveness, so they seek out their own self-immolating punishment and Kitty is their instrument, their exacter, their confessor. General Masters was all hot air and no substance. Kitty knew his type well. He could easily order a naïve solder to a certain death in the field of battle without compunction, but he had to resort to using guile and bravado to ascertain if Kitty would be true to his needs and reduce his shame, while taking his pain to another level, helping him to transcend it, while diminishing his self-loathing, at the same time.

People from all walks of life are attracted to this great city for many different reasons. Like LA, there is a mystique about the District. There is an aura and a myth surrounding DC that sometimes people aren’t aware of, yet, they are drawn to it and they come. Once here, things can change quite drastically. Overnight, or so it seems the reality of things sets in and you find it’s a very different place. You find that it’s a city of many types of users, losers, people on the take and superficial friends who eagerly walk over you on their way to the top. Government, like the Movies is the juice! It’s where things are happening; it’s from here the world turns. The way to the top is powerful connections. The pay-off for getting over is incredible. It’s not how good, talented, or educated you are that counts, it’s how good you suck up. How big your lips are. How far down you are willing to go. How much you are willing to lower yourself to another, in order to rise to the top. How base can you be and live with yourself, is the ultimate dilemma.            

In DC, you will have the opportunity to find out! You will have the chance to lower yourself to the depths of iniquity, as you fruitlessly seek your moment of fame; your ticket to the Democratic National Convention; your private apartment (secretly paid for by your Junior Senator from Michigan); your appointment to a committee, panel or other meaningless Federal functionary appointment; all the while, telling yourself that you are making it, you are on your way to the top. Welcome to the world of sleaze.                                    

In DC amongst the sharks, Kitty is seeking vengeance, knowing that she is playing a very dangerous game, surrounded by deadly people. But, Kitty has come prepared. She has studied hard, trained hard and experienced much deprivation along the way. She’s not a child and has no illusions about who she is or, exactly, what she is doing. Kitty has come to DC to kill someone and she has prepared for this moment a great part of her life. Kitty’s now playing a game at the highest level of intrigue; a game of cat and mouse; a game of wits and cunning; a game of life and death and she is prepared to pay the price with her life, if she fails, so much is her conviction. At this moment in time, Kitty has no life. No family. No lover. No friend. And what has she done, so wrong? What has happened to this young woman that she has become dejected, abandoned, an island? What is the obsession that is driving her to want to kill? There is no single answer. But, there is this......            

CHAPTER ONE                                                                     SCENE TWO

JOHNNY COME LATELY...

JOHN J. O’BRIAN, CHIEF, Metropolitan Police, Precinct 2 at your service.                  

Well, to what do I owe the pleasure, chief O’Brian?                   

Frankly, Ms.?

"Gonzales, Catherine, that is.

I have heard rumors that you are torturing people here in your loft and that they like it. You realize it's my official duty to visit the scene of any bizarre crimes in my precinct.            

Quite right, chief O’Brian. And, what exactly, is the crime that you are investigating?                                                      

Crime? Did I say crime? Oh, yes. I feel that is a crime that a pretty girl like you should have to work in such a difficult profession.      

And, what might that profession be, sir?

Well, it’s obvious...you must spend your entire day entertaining patrons and answering the questions of curiosity seekers who probably visit your Museum on a whim, interested in a subject that they have almost no knowledge of.            

Oh, it’s not quite so bad, chief. But, you know, it’s the fetish types and the freaks that give me the most problems. Why don’t you have this? Why don’t you have that? This is not displayed properly. And, here, the lighting needs to be changed, etc. etc.

Well, I guess you can’t please everyone.

True and as for you? Somehow, I suspect that you won't be so hard to please, already having acquired a knowledge of these artifacts of pleasure?       

Did I hear you say, pleasure?

Por supuesto, hefe...Obviously, chief, these artifacts are no longer used to torture, but to enhance pleasure? Or weren't you aware of that fact?                                    

I cannot tell a lie and I have had occasion to see some of the ways these artifacts might be used in a pleasure-enhancing manner, while investigating a death or two.      

Ah, ha! But, not from firsthand experience?                               

Of course not, mi lassie. Do I appear to be someone who needs to be hurting before I can enjoy mi self?      

Liar.                               

Of course not, chief. However, you seem to be familiar with my Museum and its devices, yet this is your first visit? Come, now, chief...have you been spying on me?      

Only a little, I must confess. After all, it’s my duty to make sure you are operating a legitimate concern in my precinct and to make sure you are safe from predators or vandals, while you conduct business.                  

"To protect and serve, asked Kitty?"                                    

Only the willing, replied the Chief.

I’ll bet.                                    

Well, chief O’Brian, having nothing to hide, shall we? By the way, chief, were you aware that torture had been legal in most countries for at least three thousand years.

You don’t say, lassie?

It was still in the legal codes of Europe and the Far East until the late 19th century.

But, now she’s gone?

Though you’d like to believe so, the CIA has a training manual on various acceptable methods of torture, in today’s world.

The little devils, said the chief. You’re pulling my leg now, Catherine.

Oh, no, chief O’Brian, that might be considered torture...

John J. O’Brian was born in Charlestown, just across the Mystic river from Boston to first generation Irish parents. Dad was an iron worker and mom made extra money playing piano, with a trio, in Irish bars at night. His parents were frugal and after renting a flat in a two and a half story house for some years, they bought it, renovated it and rented out the extra rooms as apartments, while living on the first floor with the kids. John, the third boy was a clever one, but had a knack for getting in trouble with the nuns, for acting up in class. He was brighter than the rest and having gotten the assignment ahead of the others, he would then fool around by putting gum in girl’s hair and doing other obnoxious tricks, for which he was regularly punished. The family made sure he went to the best Catholic schools, first St. Ann’s, then St. Johns Prep and finally to high school at Catholic Memorial in West Roxbury. The toughest school in Boston to get accepted to. John played on the football team and had good grades, but had no desire to study further and so, when the draft board came calling, he choose to enlist. At that time, the Vietnam war had been escalating and enlisting was a dangerous thing to do, but John was again ahead of everybody and got the Army to promise him Military Police training. One of his uncles, a Boston cop advised him this way you won’t get yourself killed and when you get out you can fly through the Police Academy and be a cop in no time. It was this same uncle who pulled the strings that got him the M.P. enlistment guarantee.  In Viet Nam, John quickly learned that all was not as it might seem. In a short time, John learned that the soldiers on R&R from battle there in Hanoi were being provided prostitutes and drugs for their stay by the locals. It was John’s job to police the G.I.’s and make sure they didn't break any military laws, but as he quickly found out, there were no laws in war torn Viet Nam. Everything was crooked from the opium dens to gambling and prostitution, to selling cigarettes, PX rations and other goods on the black market. John quickly adapted and began running his own whore houses and providing other nice diversions for the G.I.’s, earning thousands on the side while supposedly policing the military personal who were off limits or AWOL.       

John was sitting pretty after returning from the war with a small fortune. He soon joined the ranks of Boston’s finest boys in blue and got promoted quickly to sergeant due to his military experience. Being a sergeant had its advantages and John was able to start managing and acquiring existing illegal trade in his precinct, while accepting bribes and payments for favors. In Boston there has always been a conflict between the Italians and Irish for control of territory and business. John was clever enough to work for both the Irish and Italian families, while keeping a neutral stance and maintaining a police presence in the community. John was known to hand over, upon occasion, some of his own Irish to the Italians seeking retribution for offenses. Loyalty to none but himself was his motto. Some of these unorthodox practices brought him trouble, but he rationalized that you can't please everyone and then, again, he could always hide behind his badge. There were other incidents that didn't endear him to the community, like when blacks got beaten in the back of the paddy wagon or in a padded cell in the basement of the police station. It was necessary, at these times, to be a politician and spokesman for the department and assuage the public. John was particularly good at sweeping things under the rug, as they say. The fact that John was on the take went with the territory. By this time, he

Reviews for Kittys Bazaar

[jack daniel · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Superbly crafted, filled with twists and always suspenseful...hang in there until part two comes out...and then you will have to get part three, of the Luce Trinity or you won't be able to sleep wondering. Hardly Matters at your service.