CHAPTER 2

 

 

Two days later, a man cruised the streets of Jake’s city.

This will kill Jake. I know it will.

That thought came with such pleasure, the man allowed himself a smile of cruel confidence. He’d waited for hours because of that thought. He’d wait for hours more if necessary.

He didn’t often consider his reasons for wanting to torment Jake Wiley. He just knew he thoroughly enjoyed doing so. Every once in a while he wondered if he was jealous of Jake, or if he harbored hatred of the man, or if it was just his nature to hate someone and Jake was it. When he thought about it, he always decided it was the latter reason.

The early summer sun, red and engorged, its light striking the upper floors and making them glow golden and then orange, dropped behind the western buildings an hour before the girls came out. Like bats, they rarely came out before the light disappeared from the sky. Seldom before the “day people” left. Now, in the summer when daylight lingered, the action started later and later. The girls worked harder, feeling some time pressure.

It wasn’t for themselves they chose the darkness. They’d journeyed far beyond shame in their profession. No – the darkness covered the embarrassment of their customers, the johns. At least those who cruised this part of town, but lived in the big houses elsewhere.

But the man didn’t care about that.

He cared more about a bug he stepped on than he did about the johns. The ones with more money than brains. They got what they deserved.

High and mighty in their fancy cars and fancy clothes. He mused as he gazed out at the shadows overcoming the street. Look down their noses at everybody during the day an’ come cruisin’ the streets at night. Hope they all get a dose.

He cared more about the whores. Cared more in terms of what he could get out of them. And then only when the acid-burning desire grew so intense he could ignore it no longer.

Like tonight.

Over the last three days, he’s felt the need growing. He knew it wouldn’t stop until he fed it, gratified it, as it demanded. So he started cruising, like a shark he saw once on television. A National Geographic Special. The shark swam slowly, scoping out all the possible prey until it found a particular fish, then swooped in to grab it without warning, consuming it completely. Dominant in its world.

Like him.

He’d cruised this street before. Knew all the girls by sight.

This time, he’d picked one out last night. Saw her as she negotiated with a john, then slid into his car. He got just a glimpse of her face as she looked up when he passed by, but that was enough. He’d seen her before, but now he was sure. Like all predators, the man could pick out those in the herd who were weak or sick or somehow vulnerable. Maybe a special sense, he thought, smiling at the possibility. Something way beyond others, something unique, special. Yeah – special. Just like all the other predators out there. He turned his gaze from his whore to stare out into the night, out past the city, out to the wilderness where predators lived and fed. His smile grew as he compared himself to those other predators. His wilderness to theirs. Then he turned back to watching his whore. She was the next one and tonight was the night. Just like those others had followed one after the other, each on her own night.

He’d waited over an hour just for her, wanting to be her first tonight. It was always better that way. He didn’t know why, it just felt … what? More powerful, maybe. If he couldn’t be first tonight, he’d come back. Night after night if necessary, the desire growing all the time, until he would be her first for the night. But the man didn’t worry about that. This was her night. He knew it.

That was important. Knowing she hadn’t been with anybody just before him, that is. Knowing she’d been with a lot of men before that wasn’t important. Again, he didn’t know why for sure. Just that it was. It was that feeling he had about things, about her. And the man lived by his feelings.

A tremor shivered through him. Not yet, not yet. Push it back under, he scolded himself. Don’t give in yet. Not ‘til you’re satisfied. Often, that shiver told him the change was coming. That change came relentlessly, unstoppable. Over the years, he’d gained more and more control over it, able to stay in command longer and longer.

He took a deep breath, regained control this time, too, as the odors of stale cigarettes and cheap vinyl tickled through his nostrils. Another deep breath pushed the tremor of change deeper, down where it had to fight its way out again.

Even though the outside air smelled only slightly better, he rolled down the driver’s side window. The knob moved like a loose-jointed marionette in his hand. Halfway down, the window stuck.

“Piece’a junk,” he muttered. “I should’a known.”

No matter. The black 280-Z would serve its purpose. Its owner would find it eventually, unless somebody else stole it after he ditched it.

The sharp stench of exhaust fumes blew by with each car that passed. The few that did pass. Each cruised slowly, looking to score one way or another.

For a moment, he considered getting out of the car to catch a stray breeze, give his lungs a break. But that meant running the chance of someone seeing him, recognizing him. And breathing the all-present warm scent of stale piss oozing out of the alleys. He decided to stay put.

He slipped down in his seat, only his eyes clearing the door. His whore wasn’t doing so well. ‘His’ whore. That’s how he thought of her now. His. A tiny smile formed, disappeared in a nanosecond. She didn’t know it yet, but she was his.

For the next fifteen minutes, she approached car after car, bent over to look in the window, gave the john a flash of breast, tried to make a deal. Each time, the car drove on.

Watching her, his confidence grew every time a car drove off, leaving her there. She’d always come up dry, if she were meant for him. It was a signal; one he watched for to tell him she was the one for sure, now was the time for sure. Just like all the other times.

Having watched her before, he knew why she had a tougher time turning tricks. He’d even cruised by in a different car, different clothes, and turned her down once. A beauty in her prime, she’d seen the sun go down a lot more times than the other girls on the street. That, and who knows how many needles and joints took care of the beauty. Makeup didn’t work as well now, either. While she dressed her part, bulges showed. The legs weren’t quite as firm, neither were the breasts. They sagged. Hooking is a very competitive business. This one worked the losing side.

Is that why he picked her? Maybe.

Certainly her age helped him see her as if she were the one he barely remembered and that only faintly. But he realized her age didn’t matter. The trace of memory of the first bitch, the bitch who took away his hopes, his dreams, his future, didn’t tell him how old she was back then. Now, he shrugged it off as unimportant. What was important was that he was taking out his rage on other women because he couldn’t do that with the bitch. She was dead. He’d read just enough shrink books to know that much about himself. And that was all he needed to know. Not that he could put any of this into words after so many years. Only the feelings were left. Feelings that had to be handled somehow. And this was a good way. Knowing why he did it just made the killing sweeter.

The man glanced at his watch. Ten thirty-five. Good to go now.

Straightening up just enough to see over the dash, he cranked the 280-Z and eased it forward at a crawl. Half a block away, the whore looked both ways down the street, heaved a great sigh, and headed away from him as fast as her six-inch heels and tight red mini-skirt would allow.

He imagined the disgusted set of her mouth as she stalked off. Good. Not turning a trick would have her in the mood he wanted.

Quiet and slow he eased up behind her, staying far enough back so she wouldn’t hear him yet, watching the exaggerated sway of her hips. Bait for any passing fish. Too bad she didn’t know it would attract a shark instead. His smile matched that toothy grimace of the shark on TV.

Wonder what Jake will think about this? The smile grew into a wide grin. It’s so much fun screwing with his head.

He followed the whore until she started up the short flight of steps into a seedy neighborhood bar. Its bright lights made it stand out, a beacon to all those who craved company, several drinks, and the possibility of other things that too often substituted for failed chances at life. That was the reason his whore went in there. Going in to try to score a hit of coke on the barter system. She did that from time to time, he knew. The last two nights she tried it while he sat in the bar. Both times she failed. It just made him want her more.

Just as she reached the top step and laid a hand on the door, he slid to a gentle stop at the curb and touched the horn. She turned, took in the car. He leaned over enough for her to see him, motioned her to come down. When she began stepping down, he leaned back over on his side of the car.

She bent over, not getting too close at first. “Hi, Honey. Lookin’ for somethin’?” Her voice spoke of too many cigarettes, too much booze, too long since her last hit.

“Sure am.” He smiled with a suggestion of naughtiness. “I need a date.” He knew to tell her up front what he wanted, let her know he wasn’t undercover Vice.

The whore leaned on the car door, arms squeezing her breasts together, giving him a good look. “Let’s talk first, Baby.” Her wide smile, plastic and cold, showed crooked teeth he knew would be yellow in good light.

Playing out the game, the man replied, “How much?” Another way of assuring her he was safe, just another customer.

The woman’s smile grew with her greed. “It’ll cost ya tw--, thirty dollars up front. Anything kinky’ll cost ya extra.”

Hands held up, palms toward her, he said, “Nothin’ kinky, ‘less it’s doggy-style.”

Her smile became suggestive, except for a gap showing on the left side where she’d lost a tooth. “My fav’rit way.”

Pulling a wad of bills out of his pants pocket, he started peeling them off one by one. When sure her eyes were riveted to the money, he asked, almost as an after-thought, “How much for all night?”

The whore’s eyes, still filled with dollar signs, flicked up to meet his. He knew all she saw was darkness. He kept the bill of his cap pulled low.

“A, all night?” she stammered. Two swallows and a deep breath later, she said, “Three hundred … and fifty.”

Another smile from the man. “All right.” He knew he could bargain with her, probably get her for half that. But it didn’t matter.

“There you are,” he said, holding up the money just out of her reach. “Three hundred and fifty dollars.”

She stepped back, opened the car door. Easing in, she glanced up at the interior light that remained dark. “Been meanin’ to get that fixed,” the man said.

“Yeah,” she responded, slipping the rest of the way into the car. Before she closed the door, she held out a hand. “My money?”

He laid the bills in her lap. “Wanta count it?”

Huge grin in place, the whore said, “Naw, Baby. I trust you.” She told the lie smoothly. “I’m yours.”

“You sure are.” If she could’ve seen his eyes, the whore might’ve thought more than twice about the date.

“Mind if we go somewhere else?” he went on.

“You’re in the driver’s seat, Honey.” She crossed her legs at the knee, showing a lot of thigh.

“Right.” Easing the car out onto the street, he started east, in the direction of the river. “What do they call you?”

“Darlene.” She ran fingers through her dishwater blonde hair. “What’s your name?”

“Does it matter?”
“Naw. It don’t matter.” She looked out the window. “Where we goin’?”

Older buildings scrolled by, many of them wearing plywood where windows used to be.

Occasional vacant lots broke into the rows of buildings. Fewer and fewer working streetlights interrupted the night.

“I own a building down on the river,” the man replied, not taking his eyes off the street. “Thought we’d go down there, so we won’t be interrupted.”

“Oooo,” she purred. “A little privacy, huh? That’s nice.”

He turned then, grinned his shark grin at her. “Yeah. Privacy. I like my privacy.”

For a second she felt an icy finger trace a frigid path down her spine. Then she forced it away. After all, she’d dated scarier-looking guys.

“Here it is,” he said a moment later, turning the car into the curb. “The door’s right around the corner.”

They both got out, the man going to the trunk, motioning to the right. “Go on around, the door’s unlocked. I left a light on. Gotta get a blanket.”

Warily, the whore stepped around the corner. She could just make out gang graffiti on the side of the building. The only light came from a streetlight in the middle of the block. Darkness formed a wall not far away on two sides. Fishy smells from the river coated her nostrils and the back of her throat.

A gray steel door waited there in the side of the building. She gingerly turned the knob, pushed open the door. A little way in the distance, she saw a naked bulb suspended over a mattress lying on the floor. Outside the small yellow cone of light, nothing but gloom with the suggestion of things waiting there. If she had any imagination, she could have felt terror just past the threshold.

“Go on in,” the man said from behind her. He’d slipped on surgical gloves. The whore didn’t see them. He always wore the latex gloves. Always two pair. He knew that in situations of high emotion, hands sweated, making it possible for fingerprints to ‘leak through’ a single pair of gloves. And he knew he’d usually sweat a lot on his missions.

Together, the woman in the lead, they entered the huge building, echoes rising from their footsteps. Stacks of crates and boxes lined the path to the mattress.

“It’s a temporary warehouse,” he said to her unspoken question. “I rent out space for people to use.”

When they got to the mattress, the man set aside the gym bag he also brought in, shook out the dark green wool blanket he carried, flipped it over the mattress. Stepping back, he looked at her, said, “Strip.”

“Okay, Baby.” The whore skinned out of her clothes slowly, pausing a moment when she was completely naked, then lay down on the blanket. “This is scratchy.”

The man stood over her, unmoving, staring at her. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You won’t notice it in a while.”

She smiled, cut her eyes up at him. “Oh, yeah? You that good?”

A slow shark-like grin grew across his face. “Yeah. I’m that good.”

“Ain’t you gonna get naked, Honey? I’d like to see what bought me.”

“Later.” His reply was gruff, curt. The grin disappeared. “Turn over.”

“Oh, yeah. You want it doggy style. I forgot.” She turned over on hands and knees, wiggled her butt at him. “Here it is, Baby. Come and get it.”

The man dropped to his knees behind her, rested his upper body on her back, reached his left hand around to her throat. His right hand drew a black-handled hunting knife from the small of his back. He could shave with the blade or cut through metal pipe. Quicker than she could react, his left hand covered her mouth while his right snaked around, plunged the knife almost to the hilt in her neck, and ripped it out the front.

She had little time to feel the pain. Made no sound.

He held her down while her body jerked with her death spasm. In seconds only, all movement ceased. Still, he held her a little longer.

Turning her over, the man was careful not to splatter her blood over his clothes. Although they’d been sanitized, no need to ruin them if not necessary. Maybe he could wear them again.

Seeing the whore completely dominated excited him. Not a sexual excitement. Not exactly. Far better than sex, in fact. Total control. Power.

As he gazed at the whore, his breathing speeded up, heart raced, sweat ran off him. His eyes drifted to the gore-smeared knife in his hand, its blade shining through the blood.

He raised it overhead, brought it down. Over and over and over he stabbed the corpse, slashing its flesh, his excitement rising, rising. All thought of keeping blood off his clothes disappeared in the fury consuming him. At the fury’s peak, he jerked the corpse’s legs apart, rammed the knife to its hilt in her vagina.

Then, satiated, he rocked back on his heels, chest heaving. Ten minutes he spent like that, staring at the thing before him. A necklace with a locket dangling from it caught his attention.

Just the thing he needed. A quick jerk, and it was his.

Blood soaked into the blanket and mattress. He used the coarse wool blanket to wipe the corpse’s face where he touched it, then the handle of the knife. No need to take chances.

Taking a deep breath, the man carefully folded the blanket over the whore’s body, changed his clothes for the sweat suit in his gym bag, walked out to his 280-Z, and drove sedately away. Jake will literally hate this. A laugh like a shot exploded from his mouth.