Tag Archives: Peter B. and Art Intelli

Story

Double Trouble – Part 08

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter Eight: The Test of Hands

The morning came with a shift in the air.

No whistle. No commands.

Just silence.

Peter sat on the edge of his cot, arms limp, legs heavy from the ball and chain still welded to his ankle. The collar remained tight around his neck — by now more a part of him than an intrusion.

Then came Wade’s boots. Slow. Deliberate. Dust-streaked from dawn patrol.

“On your feet, chain boy.”

Peter rose.

Outside, Colt stood next to a second prisoner. Younger. Pale. Dressed like he’d been dragged out of a dorm room and dumped in the desert. His eyes were wide, darting. He trembled at the sight of the twins.

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Story

Double Trouble – Part 07

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter Seven: The Haul Road

The morning came with a new kind of silence.

Peter had grown used to the sound of clinking metal—his own breathing tangled with the rhythm of ankle irons. He’d even adjusted to the permanent weight of the ball and chain, learning to shift it with a timed swing, like an extension of his body.

But today, the twins stood at the edge of the bunkhouse, arms folded, waiting beside a long, flatbed trailer loaded with something new: railroad ties—dense, creosote-soaked, and heavy enough to buckle a man if he wasn’t careful.

Wade barked the order. “You’re hauling every one of those to the fence line. Half-mile down the haul road.”

Colt added, “Stack ‘em neat. No draggin’. We hear draggin’, you’re back in the box.”

Peter swallowed hard and nodded once.

No backtalk.

They handed him thick gloves, more as a dare than a kindness.

And the labor began.

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Story

The Shackles of Curiosity – Part 02

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

A Note from the Author:

This story was originally meant to be a “One Off”, but I received several messages encouraging me to continue this scenario, so here you go… (I hope you enjoy!)

The Walk Home

The city had never felt so loud.

Peter had managed to pull his trench coat up over his shoulders, so that he could wear it like a cape.  He would have been totally fucked if the damn Argento had actually cuffed his hand behind his back as he had said he would.  At the time, Peter was disaapointed.  Now he was elated. But even as it was, the manacles were not really covered beneath his coat when it flapped open, and they glistened like mirrored bracelets. He hid in the wings until it sounded like everyone had gone home, and then he left the theater under cover of night, the cool metal around his ankles clinked softly with each step, echoing off alley walls and empty sidewalks. A few passersby cast him strange looks, but no one stopped. In a city like this, you could walk down the street in chains and people would still pretend not to see.

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Story

Double Trouble – Part 06

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter Six: The Smell of Rabbit

The sun was just a whisper on the horizon when The Box door was flung open, and he uncurled himself from the box. His back ached. His muscles throbbed. But he stood — slowly, steadily — and looked Sheriff Colt in the eye, expecting him to lock him up for work detail as usual, so he was surprised when Colt slung the leather belt onto his shoulders, and carelessly flung the usual Chain Gang shackles to the ground at his feet.

You’re gonna lock yourself up today Cityboy.  Show us you’re accepting your punishment and your fate…”

No words were exchanged as Peter carefully slid the belt of off his shoulders and strapped it tight around his waist – the half loop positioned in front; then ratcheted the shackles on his ankles which had a vertical chain running up to the belt hasp, and attached to a pair of long chin handcuffs which he was ordered to pass through the hasp, and then  ratchet in place as well.

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Story

Double Trouble – Part 05

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter Five: Trial by Sun

The Texas sun showed no mercy.

By midmorning, Peter’s shirt was soaked through and caked with the red grit of the land. Iron chains clinked and dragged with every labored step — the ankle shackles heavy, the transport belt tight around his waist, locking his collar and wrists in a web of rusted links.

The twins had not spoken much since dawn. They simply watched. One from horseback, the other from the shade of a fencepost, arms crossed, aviators hiding any flicker of expression.

Peter dug.

The hole was pointless — not for a post, not for irrigation — just a pit in the earth, three feet wide, three feet deep, then deeper still. Blisters tore open across his palms. His shoulders screamed. The collar bit deeper into his neck every time he bent forward.

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Story

Double Trouble – Part 04

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter Four: The Long Night

The bunkhouse was built like a frontier barracks — thick timber beams, stone floor, heavy iron fixtures bolted to the walls and ceilings. There were no windows, only small vents near the roof and a single industrial fan turning lazily in the corner. The room was dim, lit by a single bulb hanging above the twin beds that filled half the space.

But Peter wasn’t given a bed.

He was mounted to the post.

A heavy wooden pillar rose from floor to ceiling at the room’s center, with rings set at shoulder, waist, and ankle height. The twins had stripped him bare again, save for his collar, and bound him standing with thick leather cuffs to each ring. His arms were pulled back and up, shoulders flexed, chest forward. His legs were spread wide and locked at the ankles. His brand still throbbed on his right hip, raw and blistered.

The collar chafed when he tried to shift. The restraints creaked.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

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Story

Double Trouble – Part 03

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter Three: Bound and Branded

Peter sat frozen in the barber chair, the buzz of the clippers still ringing in his ears, his scalp raw and exposed. The twin with the deeper voice stood behind him, thick hands gripping his shoulders, while the other crouched in front of the steel collar resting on the table.

“Let’s get the rivet ready,” the shotgun twin said.

The collar was a brutal piece of craftsmanship—two-inch-wide forged iron, hinged on one side, lined inside with dull spikes meant for pressure, not blood. The shotgun twin slid it around Peter’s neck. The weight alone made Peter feel like he was being yoked like livestock.

Then came the hammer.

The deeper twin held a hot rivet with tongs, taken from a forge glowing orange behind a steel grate in the wall. He slotted it into the collar’s open eyelet. The shotgun twin stepped forward with a heavy iron hammer and a steel backing block, sliding it between Peter’s throat and the collar’s inside rim.

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Story

Double Trouble – Part 02

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter Two: Induction

The compound wasn’t on any map. Surrounded by rusted fencing and tall mesquite trees, it sat like a secret in the heart of nowhere—half ranch, half fortress. The main building looked like a converted barn, only the reinforced doors and surveillance cameras hinted at its true purpose.

Peter stumbled up the steps between the twins, their huge hands still gripping his arms. The door creaked open, and the blast of cool, conditioned air hit his sweat-slicked skin like a slap. Inside was a stark, dimly lit room lined with metal lockers and pegboard walls hung with restraints, batons, coils of rope, and iron collars thick as wrists. A worn leather barber chair sat at the center beneath a spotlight, its chrome arms fitted with heavy straps.

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