Survivor: 1 (34 page)

The first thing Brad saw when he came back into the
room after closing the door was John was clutching his
neck trying to stop the geyser of blood that was gushing
out of him like a fountain. A knife with a seven-inch
blade was sticking out of his throat where his Adam's apple should be. His eyes bugged in his face, his skin
turned white as he grabbed for the knife unsuccessfully.
The image hit Brad like a sledgehammer, shocking him
with the brutal intensity of it. He felt frozen as the old
woman reached for the knife handle and wrapped her
brittle fingers around it. She tugged, and Brad could see
the tendons along her upper arm tense as she pulled the
blade out of John's throat. When the blade slid free,
blood shot out of his neck with a sudden ferocity; it was
like turning on a garden hose in the summer at full blast.
It spattered the floor and the bed, some of it hitting Lisa.

This can't be happening, this just can't be happening, he
thought. He tried to command his limbs to move, to do
something, but he remained frozen in shock at the
hideous scene. John Panozzo fell to his knees, his fingers
clawing at his throat, trying to stem the flow of blood.
Brad felt his chest constrict as the room became increasingly claustrophobic, and then the old woman was standing in front of him, her features twisted in a mad grimace,
the bloodstained knife in her left hand. Brad was so
shocked, so frozen in horror, that his reaction was like
moving through a sea of molasses. The old woman
reached into her purse with her right hand and brought
it out, and even when she pulled the trigger on the object
Brad still didn't believe this was happening. How could
this be happening? They were under protection, with an
armed security team looking out for them! And as the old
woman shot him with the Taser gun and Brad felt his
body go numb with pain, he slumped to the floor, hitting his head on the desk. He tried to move, tried to turn over
as the woman cackled, "Fooled you, didn't I?" She
pressed the trigger of the Taser gun again, sending thousands of volts of electricity through his system, paralyzing him, and the last thing Brad Miller saw before he lost
consciousness was the wide-eyed face of his wife on the
bed, frozen in fear, and it was the first hint of emotion he
had seen in her since they had gotten to Las Vegas.

When it was over, Mabel Schneider put the Taser gun and
the bloodstained knife in her purse and pulled out a cellular phone. She glanced at the woman on the bed,
watching to make sure she wasn't faking unconsciousness. She'd been instructed to stun the woman with the
Taser gun too, but she didn't need to do that-the
woman had fainted. She lay on her side limply, tongue
lolling out the corner of her mouth, her hair hanging
limply across her face. Her breathing appeared shallow,
and Mabel had reached out cautiously prior to putting
the knife away, touching the woman's face. If she had
been faking it, the woman would have jerked with a
scream at her touch. Mabel had caressed the woman's
cheek, then lightly slapped it. No response. Mabel
smiled. She wondered why Rick wanted to take such big
risks in securing this woman as a snuff-film victim, but
then, he was paying well for her work. What did she care
for what Rick had in mind for her?

Mabel turned her attention to the cell phone. She
turned it on, hitting the speed-dial button for the number
already programmed. "It's done," she said when it was answered. "I'll be waiting." Then she hung up, pushed the
antenna down, stepped around the bloody mess on the
floor, and hovered by the door to wait.

The minute the elevator doors closed, Tim Murray hoped
it didn't stop for other hotel guests.

He glanced at Mabel Schneider out of the corner of his
eye as the elevator made its descent. She looked like a
harmless old lady, the kind you saw at church picnics or
old folks' homes, hobbling along in grocery stores and
malls like turtles. Tim didn't know where Rick Shectman
found her, didn't even know the old bat had existed until
last night when he'd told Tim the plans for abducting the
Miller woman. At first Tim couldn't believe that Rick had
access to an eighty-one-year-old psychopath like this.
How the fuck does he know so many fucking sadists? Rick
had explained to Tim that Mabel was an old friend of his
father's. "She used to run an S&M dungeon in my father's
neighborhood in PL-nnsylvania in the forties," he'd ex-
plained.And it was rumored that after she accidentally
killed a client she developed a taste for dishing out extreme torture. That it didn't bother her to hurt people. I
happened to make her acquaintance by accident ten
years ago on a business trip to New York. She had requested a torture video of a child, and when I made the
delivery we had a ... how shall I say it? ... a nice talk."
The tone of Rick's voice had chilled Tim, and he quickly
accepted the fact that he was to be working with an
eighty-one-year-old female version of Animal. He wondered where old fucks like Mabel Schneider came from
and then he dismissed the thought. If Animal lived to be
eighty-one, he'd probably wind up just like Mabel. An old
doddering man who appeared harmless. An old doddering man with a taste for the grotesque and inflicting extreme pain on other human beings.

Remarkable how the old bat had avoided getting any
blood on her. It had been soaked into John Panozzo's
clothes. After verifying that he was dead, Tim had quickly trussed up Brad Miller with the duct tape he had brought,
slapping a strip over his mouth as well. Then he'd turned
his attentions to Lisa, securing her tightly. Mabel had
waited calmly by the door, and he had slipped into the
room across the hall quickly without being seen. He had
given the room a quick inspection, once again amazed
at how quickly and precisely everything had gone down.
Then he had quickly changed into the clothes he had
brought along in the light tan canvas bag he had toted
upstairs: brown slacks, brown shoes, and a beige shirt;
now he resembled a hotel staffer at first glance. He had
placed his own clothes in the bag, then had turned his attention to the large cardboard box he'd brought up with
him, unconstructed. He had quickly assembled the box,
then gone downstairs to the lobby and snagged a luggage cart. He had placed the box on the cart, then spent
a significant amount of time and energy hauling Lisa's
trussed-up form to the box. He had injected some morphine into her to keep her unconscious, and once she
was limp she was easier to move. He stuffed her into the
box, folding her arms over her head, her knees folded
against her chest. Then he closed the box, sealing it with
duct tape. There were enough holes in the box to provide
for ventilation, but that wasn't a major worry either. She
wasn't going to be alive for very much longer.

Tim Murray watched their descent to the lobby on the
indicator above the door as the car plummeted downward. They had left Brad trussed up in the room with the
door locked, per Rick's instructions. By the time he got
himself free, wifey would be meat for Animal.

As if reading his thoughts, the old woman spoke up.
"Rick said I could have an eye."

"Huh?" Tim looked at her, for the first time noting her
watery blue eyes. She looked crazy. Insane.

"Her eyes," the old lady said, her voice reedy and britde.-'[ like to eat eyes. Rick said I can have one

"Fine by me, lady," Tim said, turning his attention back
to the door. He also had to drop this old bat off at a motel
on Spring Street, on the outskirts of Vegas. He wasn't
looking forward to that.

"I like eyes the best," the old lady said in a matter-offact tone, as if she were discussing the preparation of apple pie. "I've found that the eyes of children are the best,
though. I also like asses. I like to boil the eyes in a broth I
make from the blood, but I like to baste the asses in the
oven with onions and bacon strips."

Tim looked at her, feeling a sense of revulsion. "You
shittin' me?"

"Why, no," she said, in a tone of voice that seemed to
say Why would / lie?

.You fucking eat people?"

"When I can," she said, looking indifferent to it. She
clutched her purse. "I'd eat this cunt you have in the box
if Rick would let me, but he's saving her for that pig you
use in those snuff films. I told him I wanted the eyes,
though. I like eyes."
"

"Shit!" Tim shook his head in disgust. And he thought
Animal was a sick motherfucker.

*Of course, if her pussy's still intact when Animal is finished with her, maybe he'll let me have that. I do like the
taste of pussy."

"Here we are" Tim announced as the elevator car
stopped. Listening to this old fuck talking about eating
pussy in the literal sense was making him sick. The doors
opened to the lobby, where a crowd of tourists was waiting to get on the elevator. Tim mustered a smile and
waited for Mabel to get off, then pushed the cart off.
"Car's in the parking garage," he said, staying abreast of Mabel as he maneuvered the cart down the lobby toward
the exit that led to the garage."Tird level."

°Fne," Mabel said, walking briskly for a woman her age.

As they made their way to the parking garage and
threaded their way past tourists, Tim couldn't help but
glance at the old woman, whom he kept in front of him.
Where the hell did Rick Shectman find these freaks? It
was bad enough there were weirdos out there who got
their jollies by watching films of people getting raped
and sliced up, but to think that there were old people
who were just as sick as Animal was something Tim
couldn't comprehend. What was wrong with these people? Why did they enjoy doing this shit? Tim didn't understand it; the only reason he was involved in this shitty
business was that the money was pretty good and he always got free blowjobs from the whores they used in
films. His mind went back to the night he'd gotten rid of
Al's body at the scrap yard, and how Animal had had
one more go at him, raping the lifeless body, using the
neck stump as a sexual orifice. He'd seen Animal use all
kinds of things as a sexual orifice-gaping knife wounds
he'd made in abdomens, empty eye sockets gushing
blood and optic fluid, you name it. Until the last snuff
job with the baby, though, he'd never known Animal to
eat anybody. That was just too fucking gross.

Tim Murray kept his eyes peeled for anything resembling cops or security people as they approached the
SUV The coast appeared clear-it was obvious they
weren't looking for a guy escorting his grandmother! He
motioned to Mabel Schneider. "White SW's mine." Mabel acknowledged him with a nod as they approached
the vehicle, and Tim disarmed it with the remote, getting
the side door open quickly. Mabel waited calmly, clutching her purse demurely in her hands while Tim hauled
the box into the van. When it was secure, he closed the door and pushed the cart aside. Mabel opened the driver's-side door and climbed in while Tim slid into the driver's seat and started the van.

They drove away from the Luxor, heading to the outskirts of Las Vegas.

There was a loud humming in his ears.

That was the first thing Brad Miller was aware of when
he became conscious of his surroundings.

He opened his eyes. His vision was blurred and he
blinked, trying to focus. He became aware that he was
tied up, that the skin of his arms was itching, and when
he opened his eyes again his vision focused. And what
he saw was red.

The cream-colored carpet of their room was deep red.

The smell hit him next, along with the electrifying
sense of numbness that was still echoing through his
limbs, making his skin ultrasensitive. His mouth was dry
and he felt a metallic taste in the back of his throat. He
struggled, and that was when he realized he was tied up
with duct tape.

He opened his mouth to scream, but he couldn't; his
mouth was taped shut too.

Brad rolled around on the floor frantically, his adrenaline pumping. The sight of the lifeless body of John
Panozzo, his pale flesh looking like the underbelly of a
dead fish, sent him into a frenzy. He struggled against his
bonds, and when his thrashing caused him to lose his
balance and fall on the floor, his cheek landing in the
wet carpet, he went ballistic. He jerked up, rising to his knees, and managed to hobble to the side of the bed.
There were blood spatters on the bed and the wall over
the headboard, and his heart leaped in his chest. The
rumpled bedsheets told him what he feared.

They've got Lisa, oh my God, they've fucking got Lisa!

One quick look around the room brought it all back,
told him everything he needed to know. They had been
outsmarted. Billy had instructed his security team to
look for Tim Murray and that Animal guy, probably Al
Pressman as well. They hadn't expected a crazed old
woman.

How the fuck did they find us? How the hell did they
know we were here?

While he tried to backtrack how their security could
have been compromised, Brad hauled himself up on the
bed and rolled across it to the other side where the
phone was resting on the nightstand. He tried to wriggle
his arms out of his bonds but could only manage to
move them a quarter of an inch from his body. He wasn't
going anywhere. In a desperate lunge, he fell toward the
phone and managed to get his face next to it. Then he
knocked the receiver off the cradle and felt elated when
he heard an open dial tone. Thank God thank God.
Thank God.