Hair of the Bitch - A Twisted Suspense Thriller (12 page)

“What did you mean by get rid of her?” I asked. “Get rid of her how?”

She stood upright, dusted herself off. “I have a place.”

“What do you mean? What kind of a place?”

“So many questions. Just try and relax, Calvin.”

“Yeah, well, I’d
like
to, but you’re the one who’s telling me I need to get rid of her body first.”

Angela held up a hand and nodded, looking mildly annoyed as she placated me. “Alright, alright—I think maybe you do need a drink first.”

“Fuckin’ A.” I turned and left the room.

“Feel better?” she asked, motioning towards my drink.

“No—but after a few more I will.” I drained the remainder in one gulp then poured myself a refill.

“You feel ready to talk yet?” she asked.

“I still don’t know what you want me to say.”

She stared at me.

“Okay,” I began, “you wanna know how I feel, right? That’s what you want?
How I feel
?
Okay, here goes…” I took a sip of scotch, cleared my throat. “I feel conflicted. I feel conflicted because, well, let’s see; I’m standing here in a mansion, drinking a glass of scotch that probably costs more than my rent,
with chunks of fucking flesh on me.
” I took another sip. “I feel conflicted because now I haven’t just killed some freak in self-defense; now
I am
the freak. I’ve committed premeditated murder. Gave all those sickos you call clients something to jerk off to so your crazy ass can make a profit. And you know what?” I took another sip, let out a pathetic laugh. “Here’s the sickest part. The part I simply
cannot
understand. There’s a part of me—an exceptionally
fucked-up
part—that went through with this insanity just to get your approval. I mean for fuck’s sake, most guys try roses and Hallmark cards; I gotta kill a whore with a fucking box-cutter.”

I finished my drink, turned back to the bar, poured another. Angela slid up behind me. I didn’t turn around.

“You don’t have to be ashamed of your feelings for me,” she said.

I kept my back to her. “Well, I am. If I wasn’t so fucked in the head, I would have turned us both in by now.”

“Don’t say that. You know despite what you might think, I’m not using you for strictly financial purposes.”

I snorted.

“It’s true. I have no choice in what it is that I do.” She placed her lips to my ear, whispered: “
So why not bring someone as sexy as you on board to make it all worthwhile?
”

I turned quickly and faced her. “What did you just say?”

“It’s true, Calvin. I
do
like you.”

“No, not that. What you said about not having a choice.”

“What?”

“You just said that you did this kind of stuff because you had no choice.”

“I think you misunderstood.”

“No, no, you
just
said—”

“
Calvin
…I really think you misunderstood.”

I groaned and turned my back to her again. “Fine. Whatever.”

She leaned into my ear again. “Do you want to watch?”

“Watch what?”

“Your big debut.”

I turned and glared at her, then took my drink to the sofa and stretched out.

“I’ll take that as a no then?” she said.

“Take it any fucking way you want. In fact, if you really wanna take something, how about coming over here and taking my cock in your mouth while I finish my drink?”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you the only one who’s allowed to initiate things? You wouldn't be using sex as a
tool
now would you, Angela? No, of course not. That would make you no different than that poor girl upstairs, wouldn’t it?”

“Well you’re just brimming with confidence. Maybe this
was
a good experience for you.”

“Rattle off all the psychological bullshit you want; my dick is still dry.”

We locked eyes. Another game of defiance. I was
not
going to lose this one.

“I’ll tell you what,” she said, “you go upstairs and bring Stephanie down so we can get rid of her, and then maybe later I’ll make things worth your while.”

I hurled my drink towards the stone fireplace, the fine crystal shattering into a mist. Angela flinched and I liked it.

“I’ll tell
you
what,” I said. “Why don’t you shut up and come over here and do what the fuck I asked you to do.”

She turned to leave, but I was on my feet and behind her in a blink. I wrapped my forearm around her neck and pulled her back towards the sofa, my other hand tearing at her clothes as she struggled to get free.

“We’re all animals, remember? We don’t ask; we just take.”

My words prompted her into action, but I expected this and upped my own aggression. I had her pants around her ankles, had her bent over the arm of the sofa. I went to work with feverish intent, moving in and out of her like a piston. Her struggles fueled my desire, each protest making me thrust harder. I was giving it to her. Showing her that she did
not
pull all the strings. She may have my ass on tape, but by God I could inflict
some
sense of dominance couldn’t I? Couldn’t I?
Couldn’t I…
?

Why is she moaning like that? Is she enjoying this? She is! She is!!

I immediately pulled out.

“
What?
” she said, turning towards me, panting. “Why did you stop?”

I said nothing and backed away, the overalls around my ankles nearly tripping me.

“Why did you stop?” she asked again, still breathless. “That was amazing.”

“Forget it,” I mumbled, pulling my bloodied overalls back on. “I don’t get you.”

“Well, you’re not the first man who’s said that to me,” she said as she began inching up her panties.

“Oh you're such a sexy fucking enigma aren't you? Give ’em a little taste and they’ll kill for you right? You know what? I don't think you
are
any different than that whore upstairs.”

“My face doesn’t look like hamburger.”

“Fuck you. Tell me what you meant earlier about having to do it.”

“Oh we’re back to that now, are we?”

“Tell me!”

She took a step back, held up both hands to try and soothe me. “Calvin, even if I
wanted
to tell you…”

So I
did
hear correctly.

“Tell me what? Come on, tell me what?”

“Can we just move on please?” she asked. “We need to move Stephanie.”

“If I get rid of Stephanie will you talk to me?”

She walked towards me and placed both hands on my waist. I thought she was about to kiss me until she spoke.

“We’ve got a good thing going here, Calvin. It sounds to me like you’re trying to complicate things.”

“I’m not trying to complicate things. I’ve already done what you wanted me to do, right? All I was doing was reacting to something you said, that’s all.” I took hold of her hands on my hips. “Just tell me. Please?”

She did not pull away, but her face expressed something I’d never seen in her before. For the first time, Angela Thorne looked uncertain.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “You know what? We’ll let it go for now. What do you want me to do with Stephanie?”

She raised an eyebrow at me. No doubt she was shocked at how quickly I had let the subject drop, how quickly I had gone from rapist to counselor. Truth be told, this was part of my plan. Trying to outfox someone as wily as Angela was like playing Xbox with your toes. I knew that any obvious attempt on my part would be fruitless, so I opted to play the waiting game. My hope was that in time, she would eventually slip up and divulge a little more information to me just as she’d done only moments ago. That little nugget of optimism was enough to keep me quiet and obedient—for now.

“I have a place where we can bring our subjects,” she said.

“Our subjects?” I said. “You mean the people we torture and kill.”

“The people
you
torture and kill.”

“The people you
make
me torture and kill.”

“It’s an incinerator,” she said. “There will be nothing left. No traces.”

“What about the people who saw us pick her up? They could go to the police.”

She laughed. “No cop would care. Occupational hazard.”

I hoped she was right.

I asked. “You burn ’em?”

“Yup.”

“Where is it?”

“I’m going to give you directions. You can put her in the trunk of my car and take her. Come straight back when you’re done.”

“A ‘please’ would be nice.”

“Do I really have to say please?”

“No, but it helps when you treat me like a slave.”

She gave my cock a stroke. “Pretty please?”

I pulled away as I felt myself getting hard. The powerful bitch had enough leverage over me. I felt like I’d won something earlier and I wasn’t about to trade that in no matter how much I wanted to bend her over that couch and finish what I’d started.

“Thank you,” I said. “Was that so hard?”

“It was getting there.”

I ignored her wit. “Directions?”

She produced a folded sheet of paper and handed it to me. “Don’t be stupid and run any lights or anything. You’ll have a body in your trunk.”

“Thanks for reminding me.”

Still my nerves were all over the place. Never mind I was in a neighborhood that Robocop would avoid. Never mind I didn’t have a clue where I was, or precisely where I was going in said neighborhood. I had a dead body in my trunk. A body I had killed.

(
Sinking in, is it? Fantasy World must feel galaxies away right now.
)

I’m not sure. I’m more worried about getting caught, I think.

(More than the fact that you brutally murdered someone?)

I murdered that freak…

(
Stephanie was different, and you know it.
)

No it wasn’t…I didn’t want to…I was going to let her go.

(
But ya didn’t.
)

She attacked me after. I was defending myself.

(
Please.
)

I was.

(
I’ll give you the freak. But Stephanie? You didn’t have to kill her.
)

Why am I still numb? You promised if I got in the game, took a few hits…

(
How the hell should I know? If you don’t know, then I don’t.
)

What!? You know everything! Where are all your stupid fucking metaphors?

(
Maybe you’re still numb because of what Angela said earlier. Her words keep you numb until she decides to give you more.
)

You think she’s playing me?

(
She’s BEEN playing you. You even unknowingly admitted it to yourself earlier: you’d be quiet and obedient until she gave you more.
)

That’s different; I’m using a ploy.

(
Different but the same.
)

She doesn’t have to fuck me. Why is she fucking me?

(
Keeping the help happy?
)

You saying she fucked all those freaks?

(
You considered it before.
)

That was a while ago. It’s different now.

(
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha…
)

I followed the last line of directions that had me turning into an alley off the main road, the street lamps behind me growing distant as I rolled on, my headlights soon becoming my only source of light in what began to feel like a tunnel.

The alley was predominantly bare as far as alleys go—a few battered trash cans; plastic bags and newspapers trying to fly. My speed (which couldn’t have been more than 10 mph, if that) taken into consideration, the alley still seemed to go on forever. Perhaps I was lost, was down the wrong alley, hell, the wrong block.

I reached for the directions on the passenger seat, glanced at them for a tick, glanced back up, and then stomped the shit out of my brakes. A wall to what was a dead end seemed to materialize out of nowhere. I sat there, idling for a moment, heart racing, headlights shining on a stone wall covered with graffiti.

So what now? Did I wait? Would someone approach me like a drive-thru window? Ask me how many bodies I’d be dumping today, sir?

I waited another minute, car still idling, headlights still on, reading the graffiti I could understand.

(
You’re going to have to get out of the car.
)

I took a deep breath, held it, switched off the ignition, and got out. A dim source of yellow light about ten yards east was my only beacon. I followed it until I came to a large metal garage door. Above the door jutted a solitary bulb encased in a wire cup, the source of light. No doubt this was my destination. I saw nothing else of significance. Either I was indeed lost, or this was it.

The garage door was huge and solitary, no adjoining doors on either side. The building that held the door did not look like a building, at least not in the traditional sense. It did not protrude from the wall, did not appear detached in any way. It looked as if someone decided to fasten a giant garage door into an endless wall of brick and stone.

I rapped my fist on the metal door, light at first, and then a bit harder. The echo that came back was louder than I wanted and made me look both ways. I was very alone. On another planet alone.

The door rattled and clanked from the other side. Someone was there. Another metallic clank, the sound of a bolt sliding, and the door started to slide upwards.

I saw dirty boots first. Then dirty jeans. Then a dirty sweater. Finally a dirty face. The guy looked like someone you’d see holding a cardboard sign on a street corner. His beard was a salt and pepper mess, more pepper than salt, though I think filth took more credit than genetics. Gun to my head I’d guess him in his forties, but his leather skin would have made a good argument for fifty-something. He spoke first, and when he did, I noticed his front teeth were gone.