The Z Club Read Online Free

holding a glass of iced tea with a lemon wedge perched on the rim.
    “Can I help you?” the blonde asked as if his coveralls and the fact that he was carrying a leather belt stuffed with tools weren’t indication enough of why he was there.
    “I’m here about the clog,” Fred said.  And then he winked at her; a wink that said: we both know why I’m really here.
    At first, the blonde’s eyes narrowed, staring at him skeptically, but then she smiled and, stepping aside, said, “Do come in.”
    Fred sauntered into the house, stomping the snow off his boots on the welcome mat.  The blonde closed the door behind him and said, “The clog is downstairs.  It’s bad.”
    He followed the blonde as she led him through the foyer and dining room, opening a door at the back of the kitchen.  She led him down a flight of stairs, into a finished basement where he caught a glimpse of a dimly-lit room with a pool table as she led him to the laundry room.
    “Watch your step,” she said, switching on the light.
    She hadn’t been kidding.  Most of the laundry room’s concrete floor had been flooded.  The smell was awful, and although he had encountered that familiar putrid stench a hundred times over, he found he never got used to it.  If there was one truth in life that being a plumber had taught him, it was that everybody’s shit stank; didn’t matter if they were rich or poor or black or white.  And the cute blonde was no exception.
    “Can you fix it?”
    “Sure.  Let me get my snake.”
    Fred trudged up the stairs and out to his truck, hauling a drum auger out of the back.  He pulled it along by its custom dolly.  It made a dull repeating thud as he lowered it down the stairs.  He wheeled it to the edge of the laundry room where the blonde was waiting in her silk robe.
    “Mind plugging this in for me?”  He gave her another sly wink.
    The blonde took the cord and plugged it into the outlet in the basement’s half-bathroom.  Fred grabbed the cable, holding the end up so the blonde could see the rusty blades at the end.  “Assuming there isn’t damage to the pipes, this usually does the trick.”
    Fred switched the auger’s motor on, holding the cable tightly in his gloved hands as it tried to buck wildly.  He trudged through the shallow pool of human waste to the center of the room where the water bubbled up.
    The sewage was deep enough that finding the drain wasn’t easy.  He dipped his hand in, feeling around, until he found the drain, and then guided the cable, feeding it in a few inches at a time.
    Fred glanced back over his shoulder at the blonde.  He smiled and she smiled back.  He threw his leg over the cable, squatting down so he was straddling it as it jittered down the drain, thumping against the pipe.  He began to thrust his hips, sliding his hands back and forth over the gyrating cable, and made low moaning sounds.  “That’s right, baby.  Take it all in.  Feels so –”
    When Fred looked over his shoulder the second time, the blonde wasn’t alone.  Fred froze, mid-squat, hands still clutching the cable between his legs.  Standing next to the blonde was a large black man (it took him a second to realize it was a man and not a Silverback gorilla), who was easily 6’5”, and bore an uncanny resemblance to Michael Clarke Duncan.
    The blonde and the black man were staring at him.  The blonde looked appalled.  The black man was shaking his head.  Fred let the cable slip from his hands.  It hit the water and danced and arched, splattering fecal matter all over the place.
    The black man bent down and switched the auger’s motor off.  There was a loud gurgling sound as the sewage seeped into the now unclogged drain. 
    Fred was covered in feces.  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
    Nervously, he pulled the cable free from the drain.  “Guess that about does it.”  Fred grabbed the dolly’s handle, wheeled it around, then glanced down at the white carpet and then