The HellBelles Part Deux: When Sheep Fly
By Shuvcat May 2009
The HellBelles do Scotland!
Dedicated with special love to Venti and Swest!
Rated NC-17 for two filthy dirty scenes. R for lots of naughty language. Imperiled livestock (don’t worry, they’re okay).
Featuring the music of the B-52’s, Black Flag, Joan Osbourne, Shiny Toy Guns, the Ramones, the Misfits.
The final scene is set to Kate Bush’s “The Dreaming”. If anyone can suggest a fitting track from the Wicked Tinkers, please do.
All sheep appearing in this fanfic are professionally-trained stunt sheep. Do not try any of these stunts with sheep at home.
This is a work of fanfiction for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement or offense is intended.

+++++

If you see a faded sign by the side of the road
that says 15 miles to the
…Love Shack!

Craig steered his Indian motorbike up the winding twists and turns of the Pacific Coast Highway. He had just got off another taping of the Late Late Show, and he was especially anxious to get to the mansion of the HellBelles on time.

He got to the villa around sunset. The sun was simmering in the drowning pool of the Pacific Ocean when he pulled up. The driveway was curiously empty. Usually it was full of cars and limos, signs of the HellBelles’ many other fans and famous friends. Tonight Craig saw only the girls’ three separate cars—Kay’s classic Mustang; Meredith’s tricked-out hearse; and Violette’s customized chair-friendly SUV; plus the old rusty van the ‘Belles used to tour in, the one they’d driven Craig to L.A. in that time.

When Craig entered the mansion, the first one he saw was Violette. The queen HellBelle; she was resplendent in her jewel-studded throne, decked out in her silver-laced black duds. The ink tattoos detailing various eras of her life tracked down her arms and breasts; beautiful inscriptions like drawings on an Egyptian shrine. Craig clasped his hands, and he bowed scrapingly before her. “Ah-- your majesty!” he praised her, dropping to his knees before her mobile throne. He kissed her bejeweled hand, then moved slowly up her arm, his lips tracing the image of a seductively rendered python, up to her cheek and at last her lips, giving her a long, tasty kiss. “Mmm… been waiting all day to do that. How are you, Violette my queen?”

The queen of the HellBelles smiled back at him. Her ventilator caused her words to come slowly, but that only gave them greater meaning when they did come. “Craig… we’ve missed you so,” she informed him gently.

Craig hung his head, contrite. “I know….I’m sorry. Do you know, it’s CBS-- when I’m not doing the show they’re making me watch these awful sexual harassment filmstrips--” Violette’s lips were turning up in a grin. “It’s true! They ambush me comin’ out of the studio. They say, ‘Craig! Our lawyers say you were too cheeky with Paris Hilton this evening! You’ve earned another viewing of our ‘Don’t Molest Ms. Hilton!’ tape!’ And I’m like, ‘Nooooooo!!….’” He covered his cheeks in mock horror, much to Violette’s delight.

“Craig!!” That was Kay. Ferocious cowbelle Kay, a fitting heir to the likes of Annie Oakley and Calamity Jane if ever there was one. She rushed out of the foyer to the kitchen, the fringe on her hot pink cowgirl vest bouncing as she leaped forward to embrace him with a happy shriek. “Ohh, Craig, where ya been, dude??”

Craig laughed, hugging the Texan girl tight. “Kay, miss Kay, fastest draw in the West!” He beamed at her. “How’s the Mustang? Did you ever find that manifold?”

He listened as she excitedly detailed the long arduous path she’d taken to get the rare part for her treasured ’68 Mustang, maneuvering him toward their huge couch in their entertainment pit all the while. She and Craig both helped Violette out of her throne, seating the punk queen comfortably on the sofa, where Craig immediately dropped down beside her. “Did you ever see Godzilla??” Kay asked him suddenly. She grabbed the remote to their 300” flat screen TV hanging on their wall, cuddling close to him on his other side. She and Violette had Craig in a sandwich. “I don’t mean the American one with Perry Mason; I mean the REAL one--”

“Craig!” His head turned toward the kitchen entrance. There was dear Meredith-- or the Merry Death, as she insisted on being called. And what a merry death she was, thought Craig to himself. The wee black-clad Goth stepped forward meekly on crooked legs, her pale eyes staring wanly from between curtains of black hair. Always so quiet, so placid-- yet Craig knew her to be the most sexually voracious of the three HellBelles. Her still waters ran very deep indeed. “Merry,” he greeted, stretching out his arm, inviting her into the cuddle pile with he and Kay and Vi, as the huge screen flickered to life. He greeted her with a kiss as well. “Mi petit mort… How are you, darling?...”

We're gonna have a TV party tonight!
(All right!)
We're gonna have a TV party all right
(Tonight!...)

Kay was cooking them up a marvelously spicy feast in the kitchen; as was her specialty. Craig wandered into the kitchen, wanting to see what she was up to; and he ended up helping her with the special hot taquitos she was preparing. “Now, I trust these are not the frozen kind?” Craig asked her, kiddingly.

Kay made a face. “No way! I grow the corn for these shells out in the back garden!” She embarked on a long intricate explanation of how she’d cultivated the tomatoes, garlic, and corn for each ingredient in the ‘Belles’ back nine. “And of course this is California, so I’m guessing no artificial insecticides?” Craig kept it up. He had donned a leftover Kiss The Cook apron and was dutifully helping Kay transfer the delectables from their cooking tray to the plates.

Kay sneered. “Heck no! That stuff’ll kill ya!”

Craig chuckled. “Exactly my opinion,” he agreed. He leaned over Kay’s back as she stood at the stove. “Now… now, what do you generally drink with these? I’m assuming you have lots of tequila on hand.” His full lips turned up in a smirk, letting her know he was kidding.

Kay grinned up at him. “Pina coladas are better with these. Seriously!” She used her fork to spear a piece of hot taquito from the plate, offering it up to Craig’s waiting mouth. “Here—have a taste!”

Craig closed his mouth around the fork, devouring the morsel eagerly; eyes closing in rapture as he savored the flavor on his tongue. “Mmmm… that’s very good. I see what you mean. If I still drank pinas, I’d be wanting one now. That’s marvelous, love.” Having swallowed his mouthful of food, he leaned in to give his Texan cowgirl a soft, friendly kiss.

Kay giggled, kissing him back. “You taste like hot sauce!” she kidded him. “Tastes good!”

Craig smiled down at her. “So do you.” He kissed her again.

He felt Kay’s arms wrap around his neck as she eagerly returned his kisses. The two stood there before the warm stove, their arms wrapped around each other’s aproned bodies, playfully kissing and tasting the delicious remnants of Tex-Mex food on each other’s lips.

They were so caught up in kissing that they didn’t notice Meredith enter the kitchen. Meredith rolled her eyes. “Oh God. You were right Vi--they’re making out in here! Guys, we’re starving to death? We’d like to be fed, please?” But she was smiling at the two impromptu kissers, as she left the kitchen for the living room.

Craig and Kay exchanged embarrassed glances, giggling. They carried the plates of delicious-smelling food out to the entertainment pit, where they served it out to the hungry Violette and Meredith. Once everyone was served, they all got to watching the cheesy black and white monster movie, thoroughly enjoying the food and each others’ company. Before the movie was over they had all ingested more than their weight in fiery Latino fare. By the time it was over they all felt as able to breathe fire as Godzilla was.

It was about two in the morning by then. Craig looked to each of his girls, one on either side of him and one between his legs on the floor, their faces cast in pale flickery light by the screen. “So,” he put forth. “Where am I sleeping tonight? Let me rephrase that-- where am I sleeping first?”

He watched as each of their faces creased in self-conscious embarrassed glee. Kay was curled up at his left side, her booted feet propped up on the coffee table next to his left leg. “Aw Craig… you don’t have to have sex with me!” she insisted.

Craig smiled at her, dropping a soft kiss on her mouth. “You weren’t of the same opinion that first time,” he reminded her, lightly tapping the toe of her cowboy boot with his own. But this was just gentle kidding. His relationship with Kay had evolved surprisingly. They had never had sex again after that first time in the hotel room in Nashville. For the first time Craig could remember he didn’t necessarily consider this a downgrade. He found Kay attractive, adorable, sure; and she certainly adored him. But now they shared a camaraderie that was more like a very affectionate brother and sister. Now their time together was spent conversing about cars, farming, classic films. He and she still wrestled from time to time; still kissed and kidded around-- but their mutual friendship seemed to have progressed past their one sexual liaison very nicely.

Meredith, however… that one was insatiable. The wee Goth tart remained as hungry for him as ever, and Craig had fun during their play sessions as well. If her legs hadn’t been crooked before they would have been so now, all the nights he’d spent between them. His back was well marked by her little claws; her teethmarks were in evidence all over his flesh. She never wearied of trying to please him, and he often found himself servicing her twice and even three times in one night before she would let him go. The girl couldn’t seem to tear herself away; she had a true addiction to his flesh. She was always interesting though; and eager to learn, possessed of a truly filthy mind herself. She’d try anything once, and she never left him wanting more. Not until the next night, anyway.

It was with Violette that Craig found himself experiencing the most honest kind of pleasure, though. The tattooed, chair-bound punk queen was surprisingly agile and graceful in bed. His liaisons with Vi were sweet, slow, tender; and he found they had much in common, from their musical taste to their checkered pasts. He enjoyed his time with Kay; he liked to pleasure Meredith. But he truly treasured the time he spent with Vi.

Craig was not stupid. He was well aware that he was pretty much playing out the oldest of porn movie plots. He couldn’t care less. Being a sex slave/houseboy to three willing women was… pretty damn great, actually. He devoutly hoped the HellBelles would never find something to argue about, enough to break the band up over. Because he really didn’t think he’d be able to choose between the three. Sweet Kay… frisky Meredith… proud Violette...

He couldn’t choose. He didn’t believe in love per se, but Craig certainly loved each member of his wee harem. There was not one of them he would care to lose.

He gazed around at the three punk ladies now, smiling at their looks of sheepish lust. “Shall we all draw French fries again?” Craig suggested, only half kidding. He looked toward Violette, leaning against his right side. She made most of the decisions.

Violette shrugged. “Take care of Meredith first,” she ordered. “I need some time to get in my room.” She gave him a long, queenly glance. “You can get her off in that time… can’t you?”

Craig grinned. He looked down at Meredith, seated on the floor, the back of her head between his jeaned legs. Her black-tipped hands had not ceased playing with his thighs all evening. He reached a hand down to stroke her raven black hair. “How about it, my Merry? Shall I come to your room first?” he dared ask. Like he didn’t know.

Her dark head twisted around, her shadowed eyes lit up immediately. He watched with interest as she rubbed her cheek suggestively against the inside of his thigh. Without another word, casting a knowing grin at both her band mates, Meredith got up from the floor, walking toward the staircase leading to the upper floor bedrooms. With one last meaningful glance toward Craig, she lifted her curvy black-clad leg and vanished up the stairs.

The two remaining ‘Belles giggled. “I guess that’s decided it for you, hasn’t it?” said Violette.

Craig nodded, pushing himself up from the couch. “I guess it has, then,” he conceded. He grinned down at the two remaining ‘Belles, lingering his gaze on Violette. “I’ll come as soon as I can. Meredith tends to draw me out a while,” he apologized to her.

Violette’s smile was genuine. “I know. Don’t disappoint her.”

“I never do.” Craig pressed his own fingers to his lips and blew the queen an affectionate kiss. “See you on the other side,” he proclaimed to them both, before crossing the living room to climb the stairs.

I been on the floor lookin’ for a chair
I been on the chair lookin’ for a couch
I been on the couch lookin’ for a bed, lookin’ for a bed…

“Oh God—Craig!! Tighter…tighter!!...”

Craig grinned, his own pain almost matching his young mistress’ as he inflicted Meredith’s self-imposed punishment on her. She’d come up with something pretty kinky tonight, even in Craig’s experience. Meredith had greeted him in her goth-punk boudoir earlier that evening half-naked, her white curves all but burgeoning out of a severe-looking black Victorian-era corset. Her waist was already tightly cinched by the thing but she wanted him to take up the reins and bind her tighter. (“The better to push my boobies up for you,” was her explanation.)

Craig had stepped toward her, infinitely turned on by the sight of Meredith’s tightly-bound body. “I’ll just have to take it off you again,” he pointed out to her, his voice low.

Meredith’s darkly shadowed eyes had blinked coyly up at him. “Maybe… maybe you’ll find some other way around it,” she hinted to him.

Craig was game, of course. He grinned, watching with extreme interest as the Goth girl twisted and turned in front of him half-naked. At last Meredith turned her laced back toward him, presenting her sweet behind. “Tie me up,” she requested, her dark-shadowed eyes peeking plaintively over her bare shoulder.

Words every man wants to hear. Craig automatically took up her laces. “Grab the bedpost,” he ordered Meredith, trying to inflect a dark menace in his voice. “Don’t you dare turn and look at me.” He knew she liked to be dominated, to a point. “You hold onto that post like a good little strumpet… Bend over for me.” And it was then that Craig realized the corset contraption Meredith had tricked herself up in was crotchless. He could see her bare pussy lips peeking out between the sheaths of black leather.

Oh, the naughty little minx. Craig grabbed her hips, pulling her hind toward him, forcing her to step backward. “Keep grabbing that post,” he warned her, drawing her legs back. “That’s a good girl. Now… spread your legs.” He quickly undid his own belt buckle, the metal noise clicking loudly in the tiny room. Craig was aware that the noise his jeans made as he shoved them off his hips to the floor was louder than their breathing.

He stepped out of them; finally naked from the waist down. He looked down… his cock was already very hungry for her. Craig rested his hands upon Meredith’s hips. His breath was coming in heightened gasps as he watched her slick folds unfurl for him, like wet petals under the leather. “I said spread ‘em… more… just like that. Now… keep perfectly still.” Gripping her hips, Craig slowly pressed the hard, bulging head of his cock in between her wet, hot legs. “Ohh fuck… hold it--” He forced himself deep into her tightness… he slid right in, up to his hips.

Meredith’s red mouth opened in a plaintive groan, as she clung to the bedpost, feeling his thickness penetrate her. She heard Craig let out a long, shuddering breath, as he began to move slowly, cruelly, in and out of her. “Ohh… yes… yes Merry…” He gave a dirty giggle as he plunged in and out, in and out. “Dirty Merry… you like it… you like how that feels, don’t you?…”

Meredith was loving it; having him bend her almost in half, him up her ass. The sharp pain of his stiff cock inside her was contrasted by the perversely soft, moist sounds her slick pussy made as he fucked her, slowly. She let out a helpless whimper, feeling Craig’s hands clutch her hips as his hard cock dominated her. He twined the delicate lace bindings of the corset between his thick fingers, hands firm on her hips. “Stay still now…” He slowly, slowly began to tighten the lace.

Meredith’s breath was pulled from her in a gasp. Slowly the corset began to cinch her midsection, and the effect carried down between her thighs. Craig grunted as he felt her flesh tighten and clench his deeply-sunk cock. Meredith felt it too, she uttered a groan as the bodice squeezed the air out of her. “Unh—Craig!!” she cried out, gasping for breath against the bedpost her cheek was planted firmly against.

“Hush,” Craig tried to keep the desperate lust out of his voice as he gave the laces a sudden, harsh jerk. He grunted breathlessly as her hot flesh tightened on his length. He thrust hard, and she groaned again. “You naughty harlot… be quiet while I dress you... otherwise it’s just going to hurt more.”

“Yes…” Meredith was gasping hard. Her nails were clawing splintered trails in her own bedpost. She could feel her own juices seeping between their flesh, dripping down her thighs. “Yes Craig, hurt me… more…”

“Silence!” Craig’s voice was low and hot as his hand swatted her butt, to her obvious approval. “If you don’t get in your corset, you can’t eat your meat!” He grinned, spanking her cheek again, tugging the laces hard again, and again. “How can you eat your meat if you don’t get in your corset??” Now he was lapsing back into his old Mr. Wick voice. In response to Meredith’s now-continuous grunts, Craig jerked the laces tighter, thrusting harder; feeling her heated pussy clench him tighter. He grunted, he was getting close. “Jesus… Merry…”

Meredith’s red lips leered. “Joseph,” she shot back, oddly sardonic for someone in her position.

That made Craig laugh, and that finally sent him over. He gripped her ass and jerked into her, completely helpless to his own lust now. He dug hard in between her clenched cheeks, hearing her cries of pain and pleasure echo his own. He saw that he was pushing her so hard that her naked shoulder was slamming against the bedpost. She uttered a breathless grunt with every impact, and Craig was sorry, but he was so far gone now he couldn’t stop himself. He just barely kept himself steady long enough to feel her liquid flesh flutter and spill around him—right before he let himself go, deep inside her crevice.

He was so exhausted he almost couldn’t hold himself up. Somehow he managed to stand upon his trembling legs, long enough to straighten Meredith up into a standing position, dislodge himself from her tight ass, loose her heaving curves from her constraints. He turned her sweaty, rapturized body around to face him. He leaned her against the bedpost and he sank against her, dropping gentle kisses on her shoulder where the bedpost had left red bruises. “I’m sorry,” he whispered between kisses of her salty skin, feeling her fingers stroke his spiky hair in forgiveness. “Darling Merry Death… you’re such a good, bad little girl…”

If Meredith had suffered any, she sure wasn’t showing it. Her eyes were sparkling, her red lips grinned up at him as Craig kissed her, begging forgiveness for his sins. “That was nasty,” Meredith applauded, kissing him back breathlessly. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry… I love Pink Floyd… that was wicked!!...” She giggled against his lips.

Craig grinned against her mouth. “We’re calling my cock Pink Floyd now?...” He scooped her up under her legs and laid her back on her black-sheeted bed. He slipped between her slick legs once more; a gentle brief shag before he kissed her goodnight and left her bedroom. He would have fallen asleep with Meredith, but he was overdue for his date with Violette. Wee Merry had monopolized him most of the evening; if he wasn’t careful it’d be sunup before he got inside Vi’s legs.

Craig made his way naked down the hallway, to the room at the very end, where he knew Violette would be waiting. Kay would have helped her into bed by now; he’d be very lucky if dear Vi hadn’t fallen asleep waiting for him. He knocked discreetly on her door. “Violette? Queen? My liege?”

“Come in, Craig,” he heard the gentle, breathless voice through the door.

Craig grasped the handle, twisting it. He stepped into the plushly furnished suite that was Violette’s bedroom. Her physical accessories shared space with luxurious trappings; her tremendous king-size bed with black and pink satin sheets stretched out near her boudoir, lit up by Broadway bulbs. Her many pink feathered trinkets hung all over the mirror, near her silver cuffs and spiked rings, and her huge stereo with the dozens of Ramones and Iggy Pop and Blondie and Black Flag CDs.

In her diamond-studded rocket-powered throne, Violette herself sat. She watched as Craig entered the room and closed the door, gave him a sweet smile. “Did Meredith finally get enough of you?” she asked softly.

Craig stood before her, hands folded before his cock, in some semblance of modesty. He smiled as he noticed Vi looking at his huge cock. “She’s been seen to, sure,” he assured her. “Have you been sitting there waiting all this while?”

Vi raised her head imperiously. “I needed to get around. Did you think I was going to lay in bed all night, waiting for you to get around to me?” she teased him.

Craig clasped his hands, bowing his head. “I’m sorry… Do I have permission to approach the queen?” he ventured sweetly, peering out from under his brows.

Violette grinned. “The queen commands you to approach her,” she assured him.

Craig’s teeth bared in a grin, as he did just that. Slowly he dropped down on all fours on the shag rug. The dim rosy lighting colored his bare body beautifully as he crawled toward her like some kind of animal, almost wolf-like as he stalked toward her toes. He crawled up her chair, covering her body with his. “See, this isn’t entirely fair… here I’m completely naked and you’re still fully clothed,” he rumbled softly.

Violette grinned at him. “Well then… I guess you’d better undress me,” she invited.

He knew she had trouble breathing, but he needed to kiss her… he took her lips with his, tasting her soft yet hungry kisses. His hand tangled in her fuschia-tinged locks as they tasted each other, depravedly addicted to each others’ flavor. Slowly Craig began to make his way down her neck… his fingers undoing the zipper of her hot pink mylar top. Slowly he exposed more of her inked flesh, down between her huge breasts. He kissed her boobies over and over, letting his lips linger over her varied tattoos; the snake, the tree, the virgin. “What’s this then?” he murmured between kisses. “This one’s very sexy. When did you get this?”

Violette’s chest let out an extreme breath. “’88…’89,” she muttered. “The seduction of Eve.”

“Mmmm.” Craig’s lips kissed lower, down to her belly, where the image of the universally-recognized wheelchair-crossing sign had been etched with a peace sign as the wheel. “And this? Where’d this come from?” He gently flicked the drawing with the tip of his tongue.

Vi drew in a needed breath. “That… was ’92… after I got the vent… I wanted to make peace with myself.” She drew in another breath. “I wanted to show myself… that we were still friends.”

Because it was difficult to come to terms with one’s body, after it had become so twisted and warped from what one believed her spirit to be. Craig could understand that. He still wasn’t used to this old grandpa-faced thing he himself had turned into. To his own mind he was still a young teenage punk, and he knew that Violette still felt herself the kick-ass party girl she had been before the accident.

Craig smiled as he moved downward over her belly… feeling her skin quiver under his lips. Without any ado, with no warning he hooked his fingers under her panties… slowly sliding them down, baring the queen. He took them all the way down past her knees, pulling them roughly off her ankles. Craig slipped his hands up underneath her now-naked thighs. He tugged her down toward the edge of the throne… slowly spreading her knees… making sure she was still seated comfortably the whole time.

Violette was breathing hard, and not totally because of her vent. “Do it Craig…” she rasped.

Craig grinned up at her from between her knees. “Oh, I mean to. You can’t get away from me.” He lowered his face, moving toward her wet center.

He had been told by more than one woman that he had an extremely long and gifted tongue. As he pressed his nose up between Vi’s legs and opened his mouth, he was rewarded with her gasp of delight—and with her spicy tangy tartness. He felt her thighs straining against his hands holding her apart as he licked her slowly, from bottom to top. “Craig!!” he heard her yelp, actually yelp in surprise.

He slipped his hands underneath, cupping around her butt, gathering her ever closer as he pushed his tongue up deeper… harder… burying his face between her moist legs. Violette’s black nails clawed the ends of her throne’s armrests as Craig swept his tongue around. He reached up, grabbed Vi’s hands off the armrests… he pressed her hands firmly against the back of his head, causing his tongue and nose to go even deeper. Violette grunted, her fingernails gripping Craig’s hair, unconsciously rubbing herself against his face, loving the way this felt. “Oh yeah… that’s it… lick me Craig…”

She was coming. He felt her tidal waves burst upon his tongue, spilling all over his face… He heard her squeal of pleasure, through her thighs clamped over his ears. She was panting, and Craig forced himself to pull away, worried that he was exhausting her. Violette gazed down at him, her face flushed, her breath coming in gasps. But she smiled, seeming fully in control of herself. “Craig…if you stood up… I’m lined right up with you.”

In that instant Craig knew what she was suggesting. He felt his already-hard cock twitch… but doing that to someone in her position… in a wheelchair… “Queen, are you sure?” he asked her.

But Violette nodded, almost hungrily. “Craig… stand the fuck up and spread your legs… I wanna taste it.”

Well, the lass was asking for it. Far be it from him to deny the queen. Craig stood, slowly, completely naked from head to toe, his erection bare for her to see. Slowly he positioned himself, spreading his legs on either side of her throne. He felt unbelievably perverse, but he was attracted to her breath escaping her in clear excitement. Vi’s black-tipped fingers clutched his large, muscled thighs, bringing his bareness closer. “Come on… come on,” she breathed, watching his ripe head near her lips. She gripped his bum and took a tremendous breath-- before her lips suddenly wrapped around the firm, supple head of his desire.

Craig let out a grunt of real pain, as he felt Vi’s lips close around him. “Oh—Christ--Violette!!” he cried out. Shockwaves rippled down his thighs as she sucked him, almost making him collapse. His hands locked around the handles of her chair in an effort to steady himself, as the contractions moved through his body. He tried to keep from gripping her head and failed miserably. He was completely enthralled to the feel of her mouth’s wet movements on him. “Vi… you naughty--Violette! Shit!!…” His knees buckled.

Vi pulled her lips away only momentarily. She took another breath from her vent… and then she locked her lips around Craig again, blowing him for all she could. She felt his flesh quiver and harden, and loosen… and then harden again, right before he let out a groan and spilled into her mouth. Violette firmly took every drop, pausing to breathe only when she felt he was done. Loving the noise of his helpless yelps of passion. She watched with some amount of superior pleasure as Craig dropped down on the rug, completely spent. Vi rubbed her mouth, smiling down at Craig’s compromised position.

On the floor before his queen’s throne, Craig tried hard to regain his composure. He gazed up at her, feeling his own body slick with sweat. Violette was smiling down at him, enjoying the view. “Man, fetch me a drink,” she commanded.

“Yes, your majesty.” Craig, the willing slave, pushed himself to his feet. Vi giggled as he walked funny over to her mini-bar. “What’s your poison?” Craig asked over his shoulder.

“Just water. Help yourself to some if you need it.” Craig obeyed, filling two glasses with sparkling water and carrying them back to her. He bowed as he presented the queen with her grail, and they both took a desperately needed draught, washing their mouths clean. “Now,” said Vi, raising her arms, “…get me into bed, Craig.”

Craig set down his glass, only too eager. He clasped her naked body in his arms, clutching her close to his own nakedness as he lifted her ably out of her throne, laying her down upon the huge king-size bed. He collapsed upon her, his body still tantalized by her teasings. Pausing only to make her comfortable, he immediately wedged himself between her bare, still-wet thighs, his own breath matching hers as it escaped him in a soft groan. His lips met hers, softly kissing, leaving traces of her own salt on her lips as he thrust between her thighs, fast and hard. “That’s it Craig,” Vi breathed, “fuck me… harder…”

Craig could do nothing else; he was completely in thrall to Violette’s sexy body. He pushed inside her, just barely keeping track of her breaths, feeling her black nails claw his back, able to register nothing but his own perverted tingling. Craig kissed Violette repeatedly, trying to hold out for her, feeling her flesh begin to ripple deliciously. He gripped her large thighs, crushing himself against her, loving how full and wet and tight she was. He was coming again before he knew it; his own hips and loins betraying him as he spilled inside her once again. He collapsed on her, almost weeping with the force of his desire for her.

Violette was still quivering from her own delicious rapture. She lay beneath Craig’s damp muscled weight, loving every heated inch of him. “God… that was good,” she gasped.

Craig, against everything in him, pushed himself up on his elbows, looking down at her in earnest concern. “Did I--”

“No.” Vi smiled at him. “No Craig… that was great.” She clutched him in her tattooed arms. “Stay with me… please…”

They spent the night curled together, going at it again from hour to hour, Craig almost unable to keep himself from crawling up between her legs again, and Vi only too pleased to accommodate his thick, eager cock. In the morning they finally pulled themselves apart, Craig grinning at her. “I’ve got to go to work, queen,” he begged off, dutifully pulling on his jeans. “And you’ve got to go bang some other heads.”

He helped her get up out of bed and into her throne, not leaving her side until he was sure she was on solid ground. Violette smirked coyly at him. “You come back to us,” she cautioned him.

Craig grinned over his shoulder as he paused in the bedroom door. “I’m counting the minutes, my liege,” he promised, blowing her a kiss from the tips of his fingers.

Everyone’s living in a ghost town
Everyone’s buried in a wasteland
We don’t want to!
We don’t have to!
Live like that...

“I think we need to go on tour,” said Violette later that morning at breakfast.

Craig had left for the CBS studio only a half hour before. Kay and Meredith, having cleaned themselves up from last night’s festivities, had completed their morning ritual of helping Violette in and out of her bathroom throne, the one she utilized in her private, luxurious shower room. All three ‘Belles were recharged now, and ready for another day of partying and rocking.

Now as Kay prepared their breakfast, Meredith and Violette sat at the huge wooden dining table. “We gotta get out of L.A., man. I mean, the punk venues here…” Violette sneered, shaking her head. “They call themselves punk? There’s not a real hardcore hole in the bunch.”

Meredith was lazily de-petaling one of the daisies from the floral arrangement in the table’s center. Her skin was still flushed from last night’s marathon coupling with Craig. “Yeah, nothing but Hot Topic wannabes who think shaving their heads makes them badass,” she agreed softly.

“When’s the last time we had stuff thrown at us on stage?” Kay wondered, approaching the table with plates of Mexican omelette roll-ups in hand, handing them out. “Hell, when’s the last time any of us got arrested?”

Try as they might, the ‘Belles couldn’t even recall the last real good, real bad punk venue they’d played, one where they’d felt the old thrills, smelled the old smells, feared for their lives. “I hope we’re not burning out,” Meredith ventured worriedly.

“No way.” Violette stuck out her leather cuffed hand. “’Belles forever. Even in Hell.”

“’Belles forever!” Kay stuck out her fist.

“’Belles forever!” each of the punk girls proclaimed, hands tightly gripped in a three-way of unity.

That said, they still needed an answer to their question. “Where haven’t we been?” asked Kay. “I mean, think about it. Where haven’t we played, at least once?”

“We’ve never played Scotland,” Violette offered jokingly. “For that matter, we’ve never been out of the country. Except for Mexico.”

Silence. All three ‘Belles looked at each other, the light dawning. “Scotland!” Violette repeated slowly. “Now… there is a winning idea!”

“They love punk rock in Scotland!” Kay looked hopeful. “Don’t they?”

“They love it in Liverpool, that’s for sure,” mused Meredith.

“That’s England. We can go there later.” Violette’s razor sharp mind was clicking along. “We can do this… we made enough this year. We can afford a trip to Europe easy.”

Except… it wasn’t that easy, and they all knew it even as Violette said it. She looked down at her throne, and the cumbersome ventilator that kept her alive. This was part of the reason they’d spent years driving all over the countryside in a cruddy van. Flying was not only expensive, it was downright hellish when it came to getting all the equipment Vi needed on the plane.

The ‘Belles were quiet. “Maybe we could take a boat there,” suggested Meredith weakly.

“Ain’t many cruises going to Scotland,” snickered Kay. “They’re scared of Nessie.”

But Violette shook her head. “No. We’ll fly. I can make it… we just need to plan this out.” She took in a deep breath. “What we really need… is a tour guide.”

Slow smiles broke over the girls’ faces as they caught on. “Someone who’s familiar with the landscape,” Vi went on. “Someone who knows where the good bars are. A native… someone we can use.”

Meredith uttered a devilish giggle. She was already thinking of someone they could “use”.

“Do you think he’d go?” Kay seemed unsure. “I mean, he’s busy doing the show right now. He’s even stopped touring, he’s so busy lately!”

Violette shrugged her shoulders. “All we can do… is ask him.”

My right hand
my right hand man…

So that evening when Craig stopped by the house, he found three pretty faces which all had a distinct look of covert shiftiness. “There you are!” Kay greeted him excitedly. “Come right in, baby, sit right down!” She led him into the entertainment pit where Violette was already seated on her throne. “Want some stir fry?...”

Meredith stood grinning by the sofa, a plate full of succulent-looking Asian food in her hands. “You look so sexy tonight,” she greeted Craig, plopping the steaming plate into his lap. “Did you wear that on the show tonight? I bet the women in the audience were screaming!...”

Okay. Craig knew his girls better than this. “I get the distinct impression you’re not telling me something.” He looked down at the plate of food which, knowing them, was likely drugged or worse. “Ah, ladies… if you’re plotting to kidnap me again, why don’t we just cut straight to the chase, all right? C’mon—I’ll drive us to whatever hotel you want--”

“No, no--” The girls were all holding up their hands in a flurry of denial. “We’ve been talking about going on tour,” Violette took it upon herself to enlighten Craig. “This is our problem—we’ve seen the U.S. The U.S. has seen us. We need new… stomping grounds. New turf to conquer, you dig me?”

Craig digested this carefully. “Okay…” He tentatively took a mouthful of rice. “Well… I can understand that. I felt much like that right before I left Scotland.”

“Scotland!!” Kay’s lips turned up in a huge grin. “How funny you should mention that!” She nudged Meredith knowingly. Meredith giggled her little evil giggle when she was hiding something.

Violette could see Craig wanted to be let in on the gag. “Craig, we want to play in Scotland,” she finally came right out with it. “Seems to us the punk scene over there is much more righteous than it is here. And we just figured, you being an expatriate and all…”

“You might know the places to go!” Kay finished gleefully.

“We’ll pay your way, of course,” Violette assured him. “It won’t cost you a cent. You’ll eat, sleep, fly for free.”

“And all you gotta do is show us the good spots!” said Kay.

“And have sex with us.” Meredith’s red lips were a naughty leer.

Craig sat there, understandably stunned. “Oh… well,” he burst out chuckling after a space. “Um… the ‘punk scene’, heh… take it from me, there’s not much of a ‘scene’ to be seen in Scotland--” He looked round at all the eager faces. “…And second, what’s wrong with playing the punk bars right here in town??”

Three identical reactions of disgust. “Have you seen the punk bars in L.A. lately?” Kay looked incredulous.

“I haven’t seen any,” Violette added.

“Craig, you were a punk back in the old country. You must have seen all the real cool places!” Meredith entreated.

Craig was nodding expressly. “Yes, I did! And I left! That’s gotta tell you something right there!” He let out a giggle, realizing the women were in earnest. “Ladies, don’t get me wrong... I’d love nothing better than to show you around my old stomping grounds. It’s just…” He sighed again. “I’m afraid you’ll be vastly disappointed. There’s a reason you’ve never heard of Scotland’s music scene—there’s not one! And…” He looked into each of their faces. “…it’s a tough crowd, to say the least. There’s some bloody violent bastards crawling around those pubs, they’ll tear you apart if they don’t like you. I’m… fearful you won’t be able to handle it.”

The three ‘Belles exchanged glances. “I think Craig is forgetting the way we ‘handled’ him in Nashville,” Violette mused with a grin.

Well, that was true. Considering what they had done to him that first time they’d met, Craig conceded that they were certainly capable of handling themselves. He gave them a look. “You promise not to blame me if you don’t find things to your liking,” he said.

“We promise!” All three girls nodded eagerly.

Craig weighed the offer. “You’re paying my way. I fly for free.”

“Totally free!” “Won’t cost you a cent!” “You’re our guest!”

"Free..." Craig deliberated only a second longer, before giving them a sly grin. "You just said the magic word," he finally gave in, to three looks of gleeful satisfaction.

Hey ho, let’s go!
Hey ho, let’s go!…

The HellBelles chartered a private plane, the better to accommodate Violette’s needs. Early Saturday morning, after Craig had slated a week off from the Late Late Show, the foursome climbed on the plane and took off, headed east. The flight was a long one, and rocky; turbulence seemed to be affecting every part of the U.S.

Happily, they touched down in Scotland not very long afterward. The first task was to get everyone off the plane, and into the hostel the girls had reserved. They had taken care to search out the very sleaziest, yuckiest hostel they could find. The plumbing was nonexistent; the rooms were stocked with chipped bedpans. The wallpaper was peeling off every wall, and the beds were all broken. The house matron looked almost exactly like a portlier version of the Wicked Witch from The Wizard of Oz, and all but sneered at the ‘Belles when they eagerly asked for a taste of the local cuisine. She plopped down a grimy iron pie tin filled to the rim with what looked like stewed sheep eyeballs, criss-crossed with mud-colored bread. Craig couldn’t help but laugh at the looks on the three punk girls’ faces, when they got their first sight of their “local cuisine” dinner. “Well… that’s interesting…” mumbled Kay.

Violette was the one who took charge, as usual. “C’mon guys… that’s what we wanted, right? A taste of the local flavor? Well… let’s taste already.” She picked up her fork, paused, not sure which side to start in on.

Kay stuck her fork into an unidentifiable object, dripping with gory red sauce. Violette poked at the crumbly grey crust. Meredith was about to nibble something which looked uncomfortably like a rabbit ear, when Craig finally gave up. He couldn’t watch them do this. “Ladies, ladies--” he held up his hands. “Look—let’s go to the pub, right? Now, the last time I was in town they had stuff that better resembled food than this. C’mon.” Casting a look at each other, the three HellBelles left the table wordlessly, hurrying past the disapproving-looking house matron as they sped out the door, following Craig.

Luckily the hostel happened to be very near the pub. Craig had hinted to the ‘Belles that it might be a good place to start, partially because he knew the house band…….

The Wicked Tinkers! The Scottish drums and pipes rock band, whom Craig had featured and actually performed with on the show, once or twice. When the HellBelles and Craig entered the loud and boisterous pub Aaron, the lead singer, recognized Craig straight off. The two men embraced each other with hearty slaps on the back, exclaiming and guffawing loudly. “How are you, man??” Craig asked.

“Well enough man, well enough! I see you’ve brought your harem!”

“Aye, they brought me! Dragged me over by the balls!” Craig turned to the lady punks. “Ladies, these are the Wicked Tinkers. This is Aaron… that’s Keith, that’s Warren, that’s Jay. Tinkers—you are in the presence of the HellBelles! This is their queen, Violette la Violent. Treat her with respect, you’re in the presence of royalty.”

Aaron took this advice to heart. He dropped down on one knee (the other showing bare under his plaid kilt). “An honor and a privilege, your highness!” he greeted Violette straight-faced. “I’ve heard ya play!

Vi beamed, putting out her hand for Aaron to kiss. “We’ve been looking for a drummer,” she informed Aaron off the cuff. “Would you like to beat off for us?” The look in her eyes was coy, playful.

Aaron slapped his leg, chuckling mightily, any discomfort he might have had about the machinery she was strapped into quelled by the woman’s healthy sense of humor. “Aye, just call on me, queen, we’ll all beat off for you any night!” he chuckled.

Craig grinned. “And this is our resident wrangler, Kay Slaughter-- the bride of chaos,” he spoke, introducing Kay.

Kay grinned at Keith, the tall, long-haired mountain of a man. She herself was nearly as tall as Keith was. “You ever wrangled sheep, Mrs. Chaos?” asked Keith.

She nodded, her eyes shining under her cowboy hat. “I had ten on my farm back in Texas!!” she exulted.

“And this is our siren of the lower instruments.” Craig chuckled. “The Merry Death.”

Meredith stepped forward, her eyes shining evilly under her dark hair. “I love guys who can pound it hard,” she told Aaron.

Aaron snickered. “Well, you’ll find that here, lass, I promise you that!” He waved his hand toward the other three Tinkers. “All of us miss, we can pound it right hard for you!” All three HellBelles giggled, completely turned on by the bevy of Scotsmen on display for them.

After that, they had to convince the owner of the pub to let them onstage. The ‘Belles were not strangers to harassing bars to let them sing. They were well-used to proving themselves. The Tinkers were more than happy to let them open for them—but they, like Craig, were worried that the rowdy crowd wouldn’t take well to three Yankee women singing American punk hits. As it turned out, they needn’t have worried. The punks at the bar were already hollering and fake-fighting with such vigor that it was doubtful the ‘Belles would even be heard over the noise. Even after Aaron jumped up on stage and announced the HellBelles to the rowdy crowd, nobody much noticed.

The HellBelles were not dismayed. They loudly began tearing into their first song with their usual ferociousness; Violette raking her guitar with the violence that was her namesake, Kay howling out over her guitar and Meredith crawling around on the stage, thumping her bass. At first their impact was minimal; no one could hear them over the fighting. But then—Violette ripped into an earsplitting, searing bridge solo, one that made every punk in the pub pause in their fighting. For at least a few seconds, the crowd was stunned silent. Then-- they all started yelling and headbanging in raucous approval. Their fighting took on a synchronized, almost-operatic effect; chairs and bottles were smashed over heads in perfect harmonious dischordance. They were fighting to the music, and every man Jack of them was enjoying it mightily. The HellBelles crashed to a close, grinning at the sight of Scotland’s sons brawling and duking it out—to their music!

Kay was ecstatic. “Wow! They really like us!!” She just barely dodged a soaring beer bottle.

Meredith was similarly enthused. She raised her black arms, her eyes wild with lust and adrenaline. “Scotland ROCKS!!” she howled at the top of her lungs, grinning down at all the men screaming underneath her.

Two sinewy punks in blood-stained tees hefted up a barrel of beer and hurled it directly at her. The beer splashed all over the stage—effectively shorting out all the instruments, and completely drenching Meredith from head to toe. She stood there soaked top to bottom, hair dripping beer, mascara running in black streaks, her clothes flattened against her flesh. She glared down at the two punks who’d doused her, her eyelid beginning to twitch dangerously. “You are DEAD!!” she promised, right before jumping off the stage toward them.

The fight was getting pretty nasty. Craig was beginning to get worried. He leapt up onstage, grabbing Keith’s arm. “Help me!” he directed him, and they both grabbed the wheels of Violette’s throne.

They carefully lifted her off the non-accessible stage, lowering her into the depths of the backstage, to relative safety. “This is ridiculous!” Violette objected. “I’ve been in barfights! This is nothing!”

But Craig wasn’t convinced. “Queen, just sit tight. I know these punks better than you do; some of them are honest-to-God killers!”

Violette stared him down solidly. “I can take care of myself.”

“Yes, you can!” Craig nodded. “And I want to keep you that way! Sit back woman; I’m offering to fight a battle for you! That’s more than I do for most women!”

Violette couldn’t help but smile at Craig’s show of chivalry. Craig duly noted this, and he leapt up from his bowed position before her. “Watch her!” he admonished Keith, before leaping back into the fray.

Kay was swinging at punks with a shattered beer bottle, and Meredith was clawing and screaming at her assailers like a rabid cat. She was completely soaked in beer and crazed with violence; Kay was hardly less fierce. The two ‘Belles were fighting viciously against the various punks, and Craig found himself fighting alongside Aaron and the other Tinkers, landing one or two solid socks against the pub crawlers. Just like the old days, he found himself thinking, ironically.

Suddenly the long, whining wail of Kingdom sirens sounded outside the pub. The front door burst open, and soon a phalanx of bobby-suited policemen were standing inside, glaring at anyone and everyone. Their leader, a blubbery red-faced fellow with a pulpy red nose, stood at the fore. “ALL RIGHT THEN!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs, somehow overcoming the noise of fighting and shorting-out amps. “Every man in here, freeze! The lot of you are under arrest!!”

Keith looked over at the interloping officer. Violette frowned as the Tinker’s face went slack. “Ah, fuck—it’s Constable Greer!!” Keith blurted out.

Apparently Greer’s reputation preceded him. Those men who didn’t stop fighting instantly to quiver in fear leapt out the pub windows, made their escape through back doors. Constable Greer took no note of them; in fact he seemed to have eyes for no one except Craig, standing uncomfortably vulnerable at the front of the pub. Greer stalked toward Craig, a truly hateful sneer on his face. “So, Ferguson,” Greer snarled. “I always knew it was only a matter of time before ye showed your unworthy face here again.”

Craig clearly was no stranger to Greer. There was obviously some undisclosed, bitter feud between the two men. “Aye, constable,” Craig shot back, lacing the title with undisguised contempt. “Still the top of the food chain, I see. Still giving good mouth to the magistrate, are you?”

Greer was not amused. “Aye, it’s all well and good for a traitor like yourself to talk. Defect to the States, I guess that makes you feel superior to us, doesn’t it? That doesn’t erase your past sins here, let me tell you. Your transgressions against the municipality of Cumbernauld are as fresh as the day you committed them, man.”

Craig smirked. “Oh yeah-- my transgressions against you. How are they, by the way—my transgressions? What were their names again—Agatha and Rosie?” A rude giggle escaped Craig. “Yeah… they were both right nice transgressions at that. Redheads, the pair of them. Twins, weren’t they? Tell me, did Agatha ever get over that stage of laying every punk rocker she came across, hm?”

Greer’s face, if it was possible, had gone even redder. “Don’t you dare say another word against my bonny girls!” he bellowed. “You… filthy sheep-licking bastard!! Both my girls you defiled—not just one-- both of them!”

“Oh, they loved every minute of it.” Craig assured the constable. “Wee Rosie, she couldn’t leave me alone. You might talk to her about that. And Aggie, dear girl, she very nearly ripped my clothes off. I was merely a victim of circumstance.”

“You--” Greer looked about to launch a fist against Craig, but thought better of it. “No… no need for that. I’ve got you now. You’re in my jurisdiction now, boy.” He turned to the officers. “Let the lot of them go. All I want is him! Cuff him now!”

The HellBelles watched in horror as the officers left off everyone else in the pub—and all converged on Craig, grabbing at his arms, forcing his wrists into cuffs. “Hey—wait a minute!” Violette spoke up, wheeling to the front. “You’re arresting Craig?? Why?”

“Yeah, he didn’t even do nothin’!!” objected Kay loudly. “Man, you wanna bust someone, bust us! We’re the ones who started it!”

The constable glared down his red nose at the three American women. He sneered derisively, casting a side glare at Craig. “You sly bastard,” Greer muttered. “Old dog still up to his old tricks, eh? Two women at a time not enough for ye; you’ve got to have three now?” He regarded the girls coldly. “The bloody tarts oughta thank the Lord there’s men like me to protect ‘em from the like of you! You’re a bloody menace on the streets, you are!”

“Let him go!” demanded Violette coolly.

“You three get along!” Greer snapped. “I’m not in the habit of incarcerating invalids!” He gave Vi’s throne a debilitating glare. “The lot of you are free to go-- unless you press on in your foolish defense of this dog! In which case I’ll be forced to jail the whole lot of you!”

“So go ahead and jail us!!” Meredith snapped. “You corrupt pig!!”

“Aye!” Aaron of the Tinkers stepped up to bat. “You can arrest me too, then!”

“And me!” Keith stepped forward.

“And me!!” Warren and Jay spoke in unison, stepping forward.

But whatever Greer had against Craig, it apparently meant more to him than busting a bunch of rock star punks. He glared at the American-born HellBelles; arresting them would invite scrutiny from the U.N. and that was one thing he especially didn’t want. “Get along out of here!!” Greer bellowed. “As of now this pub is under martial law! Any trespassers will be shot on sight! As of now—ALL of you are trespassers!” He pulled his pistol from his holster, leveling his glare on Vi in her chair. Both Kay and Merry cringed toward her, half in defense of Vi, half in fright for their lives. “Unless you fancy spending the rest of your life in an iron lung, you’ll get along—NOW!!”

“Ladies—it’s okay.” Craig looked nervously over his shoulder at his three ‘Belles, as the officers dragged him out of the pub. “Please, just go along… I’ll be out of jail before the moon rises, I promise. Go on back to the hostel now, don’t make waves! Just get along!” That was the last he got out before the officers carried him out the pub door.

That left the three HellBelles alone, confused, and upset in the middle of the beer-soaked, now- quiet bar. “But…!” Kay cried out. “Craig!!”

+++++

Upon reaching the hostel, the HellBelles got another unpleasant shock—they found all their stuff had been tossed out into the street. The house matron curtly told the three of them that her inn was not a haven for roughhousing Yankee sluts. Or something like that. Frankly the woman’s accent was so thick the girls had a hard time discerning exactly what it was she’d said. All the ‘Belles knew was their gear was laying in the mud. So, they gathered up their things; the Tinkers helping out, carrying the HellBelles’ gear down the street to another pub—one that they hadn’t been thrown out of yet. They all hunkered down at a table, all inconsolably glum. They bought a round of Guinness, and the ‘Belles and the Tinkers all proceeded to get solidly drunk.

“We are in serious deep shit," muttered Meredith. “We’re all alone in a foreign country! No way to get home… nowhere to stay!”

Aaron leered. “You needn’t worry, darling. We’ll make plenty of room for you!” All the Tinkers nodded in agreement, chuckling.

“No worse than all the times we’ve been homeless and crashing on people’s couches in the States.” Violette calmed Meredith down.

“Yeah, but what about Craig??” asked Kay. Every one of them was worried sick for him. “I can’t believe his own country would treat him like that! I mean, he’s like a hometown hero!”

Keith shook his head regretfully. “That doesn’t mean a helluva lot. Jesus Christ himself was nobody in his hometown.”

That was true. “My hometown sure wouldn’t have been upset at the loss of me,” muttered Meredith. None of their towns would have.

But Kay, almost more than all of them, was inconsolable. “But they can’t keep him in prison on a trumped-up charge like this!!” she insisted. “When did ‘transgression’ happen anyway-- 1987?? That’s like, 20 years ago! Aren’t there like, statutes of limitations and stuff in Scotland?”

“Indeed there are.” Aaron nodded. “But Constable Greer is no ordinary constable, lass. There’s talk all over the countryside of how he runs things. Men have been fed up with his corrupt way for years, but somehow he keeps snaking his way back into power.”

“Add to that, he’s bearing a powerful grudge against Craig for shagging his daughters back then.” Keith nodded sadly. “Aye… we’ll not be seeing Craig for 10 to 20 years, at least.”

“They can’t do that!!” argued Kay. “How’s he gonna do his TV show?! This is awful—we gotta bust him outta there!”

“Bust him out?” Meredith looked skeptically at Kay. “How do you figure we’re gonna do that?”

Kay glared back. “Look, Craig didn’t have to come over here with us—but he did! He didn’t have to give us a break on his show-- but he did! He didn’t have to do any of the stuff he’s done for us but he did, and you know why? Because he’s our friend! We can’t just sit here whining like a bunch of pussies and let him rot in prison!! That’s not what HellBelles do! We gotta bust him out of there! We owe him that much!”

Aaron the lead Tinker grinned. “Your friend’s a man’s kind of lass,” he informed the other two ‘Belles.

Violette smiled. “She says that a lot. ‘We owe him’-- It’s like her mantra or something.”

But they all knew Kay was right. “All right. So we’re going to bust him out,” added Violette. “But short of dropping a bomb on the place, I don’t see how it’s gonna happen.”

“Can’t we just pay his bail?” asked Meredith.

Violette shook her head. “If this crooked Greer guy wanted money, Craig would’ve made bail himself by now. Craig likes to talk about how broke he is, but he’s still got more money than WE do. If Greer wasn’t impressed by that, there’s no way we’re gonna impress him.” Vi took a deep breath. “What’s more… I don’t believe he’s gonna be happy just watching Craig rot. Sooner or later somebody else is gonna miss Craig. People are gonna come around here, asking questions. Making life real uncomfortable for Greer.” She looked extremely grim. “Sooner or later it’s gonna occur to that fat bastard… that keeping Craig around isn’t good for his little racket. It’d be real easy for him to make Craig… disappear.”

The other two HellBelles looked startled. Neither of them had thought of that. “He wouldn’t!!” Kay gasped.

“Lass, he not only would—he likely has!” Keith turned to Warren. “Here, what was the name of that one solicitor, the one lad that went missin’ a year or so ago, after gettin’ on Greer’s bad side? Patterson, wasn’t it?”

“Aye. They’ve yet to find hide or hair of him!”

The three ‘Belles were silent with shock. “That’s it,” Vi was determined. “As Craig likes to say, we’re through the looking glass, people. This is now a rescue mission. We’ve got to save him.”

Meredith looked deeply dejected. “Oh yeah? Us and what army?”

“You can count on us!” Keith spoke. “We’ve got… well, we’ve got us four-- and we’ve got friends!”

The ‘Belles looked hopeful. “Friends in government?”

The Tinkers looked sheepish. “Actually no… friends with sheep,” Keith confessed.

Meredith uttered a noise of despair. Violette looked grim. But Kay perked up. “Sheep... sheep? That’s something! That’s a movable force, isn’t it?” She looked to Keith. “How many head of sheep do you have?”

The Tinkers looked among each other, shrugging. “Between us… two, three hundred head. Possibly less… but probably more.”

Kay looked to the girls. “That’s a lot of head! You know how much force is behind that much head??” Meredith was giggling behind her fingers at the double entendre. “I’m serious!!” Kay insisted. “If they were horses, we’d have an army!”

“A sheep’s more stubborn than any horse!” promised Aaron.

“Stupider, too,” agreed Warren. “Sometimes that’s less a liability than you’d think.”

Kay was grinning hugely. “Oh… oh man, do I have an idea.” She grinned unabashedly at the two ‘Belles and four Tinks. “Guys…… this is gonna ROCK!!”

I don't wanna be here
in your London dungeon
I don't wanna be here, in your prison cell...

The jail they were holding Craig in was called Sheepshead. It just happened to be in a section of town that was surrounded on all sides by hilly streets. The streets themselves were little more than wide, single lane gravel roads. The “city blocks” were sparsely built up, only vaguely resembling blocks. The jail itself, however, was solid stone and really did resemble something like an old-world fortress. Rumor was the building had actually been some kind of stockade hundreds of years ago.

Greer leered evilly as his men practically threw Craig into the dank jail cell, and slammed the metal door shut. Craig’s eyes took in the lumpy, smelly cot and the damp puddle in the center of the stone floor, courtesy of water dripping from the cracked stone ceiling. “Right,” he sighed miserably. “Just like my studio. I feel right at home.”

Greer snickered. “Best get used to it, my boy,” he hissed. “You’ll be callin’ that cell home for a long, long time.”

Craig gave him a glare. “You don’t know my lawyer very well. If I were at the bottom of the pit of Hell he’d find me!”

“Aye, there’s no criminal lawyer gonna get you off of this one, lad!” Greer and his lackeys laughed as they turned and walked away down the long stone hall.

Craig pressed his face against the bars, shouting to be heard. “He’s not a criminal lawyer! He’s my alimony lawyer!!” His shout was answered by a metallic slam.

Craig looked glumly around the abysmally dank and depressing quarry-like cell. His stomach grumbled loudly. He caught sight of what looked like a cafeteria tray, cracked in half and laying in cobwebs on the floor under his cot. There wasn’t even a commode. Did they expect him to shit in the corner like a dog??

Craig found himself more than a little bit nervous. He felt unnervingly as if Greer and the others fully planned never to come back… like they planned to leave him there for eternity, like Fortunado in Poe’s wine cellar. Sure he’d been arrested before, that time in Tijuana. But this…He was well acquainted with the sort of things that happened in these hamlet jails, with so-called “constables” like the one Greer fancied himself to be. Nobody outside of the HellBelles even knew where he was. He’d been fairly certain of being back in the States come Monday, that’s why he hadn’t told his agent or even the stage manager where he was off to. If the girls didn’t come up with some way to get him out of here… and for all he knew, that bastard Greer had orchestrated some way to spirit them out of Scotland already…

Craig rested his wrists against the cell door, forlorn. Yes, more than a wee bit nervous, he was.

'Bang!' goes another kanga
On the bonnet of the van…

Outside the jail, on the hillsides surrounding, a mass convergence was taking place.

The Tinkers had got all the sheep they could find; some their own, some borrowed from friends. They each mounted one and divided the mass into four flocks. Violette from her throne directed Kay and Keith to situate their flock on the west hill, and Meredith and Warren to stake out the southside. Then Violette led Aaron and Jay with their two flocks toward the front of the jail, coming in from the north and east. Now there was a veritable ocean of wool and cock-eyes and bad teeth covering the hilly streets for blocks, choking every available avenue.

The Tinkers started beating out a fearful, pounding war dirge on their drums. The menacing beat echoed far over the hills. Each HellBelle moved toward the front of their flocks, closer toward the jail. Kay was quite at home riding atop Emerald, a pretty palomino borrowed from one of Keith’s friends. Meredith had hijacked a Segway scooter someplace, and she spun towards the front of her flock. Violette wheeled to the head of the army on her throne, like the aboriginal queen of hundreds of highland head. The sheer number of animals and their sudden appearance at the jail was quite a novel sight. Under the drums, the noise of scattered bleating in the growing twilight was eerie.

Inside the stone walls, the head jailer gazed out the window, terrified. "Who the hell are they??"

Violette had come up with a megaphone. “We are the ‘Belles from Hell!!” she belted out, as loudly as her vent and the megaphone would allow. “We’ve come for Craig! Give him to us!!”

Greer allowed his lips to curl in a slight sneer. “Hell itself’s come for the bastard,” he quipped darkly. But his brow furrowed in a hateful scowl. He noted the hills, white with sheep, and the roads, completely blocked. No way in—and no way out.

Keith cupped his hand around his mouth. "This is Mr. Ferguson's fan club! We be ten thousand head strong! Give us the talk show host; otherwise we'll lay on ye!!" The other Tinkers let out war whoops.

Meredith giggled gleefully; Kay whooped and gave her lasso an eager flick atop Emerald. Violette only smirked, serene in her throne. In the jail, the head jailers converged. "What do you think of it, man?" asked the jailer. "I never seen the like in all me days! We'd best hand him over!"

Greer gave him an ugly look. "Are you mad, man?! Do you have no respect for the law? I'll be damned if I let that lad out; I've been spoilin' to nab him since '87! Do you hear? The bloody eighties, man!" He leaned out the window. “You’re mad, mad, the whole lot of you!!” he shrieked at them. “The man, no! The jail, yes!”

The Tinkers and their sheep hesitated, waiting for the ‘Belles’ orders. Kay and Meredith looked to their queen, Violette. Vi’s lips were set in a stubborn pout. She drew in a deep breath, the better to give her words violence.

“Erase the place!!” she belted out, her usually calm voice a shrill, bloodchilling cry.

Kay uttered a wild “Yee-haaah!!” spurring Emerald into gear. Meredith uttered a demonic screech, gunning forth on her Segway. And the Wicked Tinkers each let out a bellowing howl as they surged down the hillside toward the jail-- thousands of sheep stampeding behind them.

The few policemen unlucky enough to be manning the jail that night spilled out the front gate, but even they were not prepared for the sight of hundreds of sheep stamping toward them. They realized only then what deep shit they were about to be in. They thought for a moment that they had been transported back in time; the shrieking Tinkers were every bit as terrifying as Will Wallace’s troops, in their punk makeup and chains and clan clothes. The cops were easily outnumbered and bound and gagged by the wild Scot musicians.

Catapults were brought in. Brave sheep lined up to be launched, bleating vengefully as they flew toward the stone walls of the fortress. The sky was black with soaring sheep. The jail roof grew hoary with wool; confused sheep wandered around the cement roof. Several of the beasts pounded through the front gate into the very jail itself. They charged down corridors, ramming into cells, bleating loudly and infuriatingly. The head jailer climbed up on a chair, squealing like a housewife frightened by a mouse, as the burly creatures swarmed the front office.

The HellBelles themselves descended screaming on the jail like scorned banshees, invading the stone confines. Kay galloped into the very jail on her horse, rearing up and shattering the wooden front desk beneath Emerald’s powerful hooves. Zeroing in on Greer, she twirled her lasso rope and with a shrill cry she hurled it forward, roping Greer on the first try.

Violette wheeled right up to the chief. She glared darkly at him, her eyes blazing under soot-colored shadow and flame-pink bangs. “We’ve come for Craig,” she informed him cheekily.

The constable pulled a look of utter disgust. “All of you??”

“All three of us!” Kay grinned.

“And not only that, we’re here to get Craig out of jail.” Meredith added with a naughty smirk.

Violette did not flinch, staring the constable down icily. “Give us what we want, Greer. Hell has no fury like the ‘Belles.”

The constable knew he was beat. He knew better than to argue with a denizen of the very abyss itself. Kay loosened the rope, and Greer quite willingly sprinted back to the cell block, inbetween wooly clouds of bleating livestock. He gladly produced the key and unlocked the cell holding TV’s Craig Ferguson.

Craig in turn very gladly wriggled his way out of the cell. Then-- he took off after Greer, who was beating a hasty retreat down the corridor. "Hey!!" Craig leaped toward the evil law officer, jerking the fellow's large form around. Without any hesitation Craig launched his fist right into Greer's face, knocking the constable out cold. "That's for aiming a pistol at Violette! You gutless, ball-less piece of shit!" Glaring down at the compromised Greer, Craig turned and made his way down the hallway.

He weaved between the scads of sheep, emerging from the corridor, and into the arms of his devilish deliverers. “Lass,” he exulted, dropping down on his knees to honor Violette first, kissing her face gratefully. “You—beautiful, crazy, madwoman--”

Violette smiled at him. “Get with Kay,” she advised. “She’ll get you to the airport fastest. She’s got a horse.”

Craig tarried only a moment more. “May I ask who has been given the honor of piloting this flight?” he dared ask.

Violette’s lips smirked. “May I offer you the honor?” she served back.

Craig beamed. This was undoubtedly the best exit he’d ever made from the land of his birth. “Queen, I love you,” he told her, and he meant every word.

+++++

Craig flew them to Edinburgh-- the HellBelles and the Tinkers-- aboard a two-engine monster plane. The plane initially worried Craig, since he’d never before piloted anything but a single-engine Cessna, but he quickly got the hang of it. Upon landing, they immediately stormed into the magistrate’s office. The magistrate gave the mob of dirt-covered, war-disheveled punks invading his office a hard, sharp look. “What’s all this then?” he demanded.

Craig stepped up to the desk. “All right—you probably don’t recognize me, but I’m a tremendous TV star in the States!” He felt only slightly bad inflating his status like this. It was completely necessary. ”I’m also an ex-resident of Cumbernauld and I’m telling you there’s a Constable Greer in charge who tried to kill me this evening!”

“We think he’s killed at least one other man as well!” spoke up Aaron.

“We’re all witnesses!” Kay burst out. “All of us saw it! We wanna press charges!”

Violette wheeled to the fore in her throne. “Craig’s a citizen of the United States, we all are. What Greer did to him could equal an act of war. We can call immigration; get the United Nations on your ass.”

“Yeah, and CBS Studios!” yelled Kay.

“And the Terminator!!” piped up Meredith.

Everyone gave her a look. Meredith shrugged. “Arnold!....” she elaborated. “The governor of California??” she spelled it out for them.

Craig turned back to the magistrate. “Look, I’m willing to press charges, we all will. You can nab Greer right now; he’s at the city jail!”

“Surrounded by sheep!” announced Aaron proudly.

The magistrate looked completely taken aback. He very much didn’t want to muck around with the U.N., one of Scotland’s favorite sons, several grimy punks, and Arnold on top of it all. He cleared his throat, attempting to retain his dignity. “Ahem, right then… call our marshal,” he ordered his second-in-command. “Tell him to send men out there. Arrest Constable Greer.”

++++++

And so, justice was served. Constable Greer got busted, big time. The mass of sheep were herded out of the jail, and were returned to grazing peacefully on the green hillsides at each of the Tinkers’ farms.

Aaron took the HellBelles to his favorite and most trusted tattoo artist. The fellow had the honor of inking Violette’s brand-new tattoo-- a Celtic-looking design honoring the battle of Sheepshead. Violette was extremely proud of the beautiful new picture, another chapter of her life displayed for the world to see on her skin. Feeling Craig’s lips dancing over it when they made love was very exciting.

Best of all, the HellBelles got their tour. They got booked at several of Scotland’s scummiest, punkiest pubs. And they even got the Wicked Tinkers to back them up. At every show, the boys provided a pounding Celtic backup to the girls’ decidedly American punk rock covers of the Ramones, Blondie, Danzig, Joan Jett, even the B-52s. The punk crowds loved them, evidenced by the amount of trash and peanuts they threw. And when the ‘Belles finally left Scotland, in a flurry of triumph, Kay brought home a new member of the band: Dolly Part Deux, one of the brave ewes who fought the battle of Sheepshead.

The End.

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