The Feeder (9 page)

“Stop fucking staring at me.”

His throat was slashed so deeply he was almost decapitated. It was eerily similar to the way Camille’s throat had been cut.

It gave me inspiration.

Still humming, I grabbed the towel from on top of the bar to avoid touching him with my bare hands. I sliced the nipples from his chest and using the towel to handle them, shoved them into his mouth.

There.

Now, when they found Camille they would assume she had been killed by the same person who had killed Louie.

As careful as I was not to leave any traces of DNA evidence, I knew how easy it was to leave traces of oneself behind, especially following a struggle. Forensic science only needed a minute amount of material to identify a person. I also knew however, that it wasn’t an exact science and there was a small margin for error. Two people could have similar DNA, especially if they were related. Even more so, if those two people happened to be identical twins.

I was banking on the fact that Cammie had spent a good deal of time in Louie’s apartment, behind this very bar as well as in his bed. When homicide went over this place with a fine-toothed comb, all they would find was evidence of her and every other woman he had been with. If I was lucky, any traces of me would be assumed to be from Cammie.

I found a package of small plastic trash bags behind the bar and took one. I slipped the towel I’d used to touch Louie’s body into the bag before pocketing it to avoid getting any blood inside my coat.

“I gotta go,” I said, humming under my breath as I opened the door, keeping my jacket between my hand and the knob. I had a feeling that fucking song would be stuck in my head for the rest of the day.

I pressed the elevator button the same way, using the fabric of the jacket as a barrier between my skin and any surface from which fingerprints might be lifted. I gave the UP button on the main floor a quick wipe, then did the same to the call button outside the building.

I walked several blocks away before hailing a cab and retreated to my motel room to get cleaned up.

~ Chapter 12 ~

The White Rhino

It was time to plan the next phase of my California safari. Louie had been small game; a practice kill to prepare me for the big game. If Louie was a gazelle or impala, Diamond Vinnie was the elusive white rhino. I needed to be at my best if I was going to succeed in taking him down.

I went shopping for a few necessities. My room was a kitchen unit, so I planned to stock up on enough groceries to keep me fed in case I had to hole up in my room for a while. I didn’t know how long I was going to be there or where my safari was going to lead me next but I believed in being prepared.

I stopped in the pharmacy section of the supermarket and picked up a few more items. A package of disposable razors, some shaving cream and a bottle of lotion labeled
Eye Makeup Remover.
I also bought a tube of waterproof mascara. That eyelash shit was a pain in the ass to put on, and it ran into a big mess the moment water touched it. I hoped the waterproof stuff would work better.

As an afterthought, I added a large bottle of isopropyl alcohol to the basket. Human blood was a nasty thing; if I was going to be coming into contact with it I wanted to be able to adequately clean up afterward. As satisfying as it had been to carve Louie up, I’d felt a little squeamish about having his blood on my skin. The funny thing was, I’d never felt that way on any of my hunting trips back home. Many times I’d been up to the elbows in entrails and emerged from the woods covered in moose or elk blood without giving it a second thought. Comparing my human hunt to a safari was my way of disconnecting my mind from the horrific nature of my mission.

Back at the motel, I took a hot bath and soaked my tired body. My feet still hurt from wearing Camille’s pointy-toed boots. They were the right size but I wasn’t used to them. I made a mental note to look for alternative footwear that was easier on my feet but still made me look sexy. I shaved my legs and armpits, then lay in the tub and cried for Cammie until the water went cold.

I ate a simple dinner of tuna sandwiches while leaning back in bed and watching the evening news. I sat upright when an image of the Dufferin flashed on the screen.

They had finally found Cammie.

The police held a press conference but they refused to release the victim’s name or confirm that her murder was connected to any other homicides that had taken place in the city recently.

One reporter asked directly if it matched the M.O. of the serial killer known as ‘The Feeder’. The LAPD spokesman, Detective Barton, once again refused to confirm that the recent killings were the work of a serial killer. He insisted that nicknames such as ‘The Feeder’ were just hype created by the media with no basis in actual fact.

The reporter was a persistent one.

“Is it true some of The Feeder’s victims have been mutilated and had parts of themselves inserted in their mouths?”

The detective looked a little uneasy but maintained his cool.

“I don’t know where you heard that, but it sounds like something you might have seen in a movie. As I have already stated, none of these rumors have any basis in fact. I assure you, we have our best homicide detectives on the job and they are investigating this and every homicide with the utmost care and professionalism.”

The reporters continued to shout out questions but the press conference was over. No more mention was made of the murder at the White Surf. So far, nothing at all had been said about Louie, which led me to assume they hadn’t found him yet.

I hugged a pillow to my chest and curled up on my side to get some sleep. I wished I had a real person to hold in my arms. I’d had someone once, but like everything else in my life, things didn’t work out the way I had planned.

* * *

I dressed to the nines the following day, in preparation for my visit to the white rhino, Diamond Vinnie. I had to admit, I looked hot. The black leather corset I found in Cammie’s suitcase still smelled like her, and it made my heart ache. Putting it on made me feel like she was with me, as she well deserved to be. I wore stockings again because I felt kind of naked without them, and I felt they were a nice distraction from my face in case anyone was asked to describe me.

I had my knife sheathed next to the small of my back and a set of handcuffs tucked into my belt, easily accessible if and when I needed them. I had purchased the handcuffs the day before, realizing I needed as many advantages as possible when dealing with someone like Vinnie. I had no intention of winding up like Cammie or the poor sap at the White Surf.

I also had the pistol I had taken from Louie’s apartment. It was a 9mm Beretta with a full clip of ammo. The Beretta was one of the LAPD’s standard issue sidearms, though many cops preferred the lighter and more efficient Glock like the one I had at home. I wondered if the gun I carried had belonged to a cop.

Like Vinnie, for example.

What irony it would be if I gunned the asshole down with his own weapon! I knew I was going to need more than a knife with this asshole if he truly was a cop. He was trained and lethal, and not to be underestimated.

I knocked on his hotel room door, holding the Beretta behind my back.

“Yeah?” a muffled voice said from behind the door.

“It’s me, baby. I need some,” I said in a soft, sweet voice.

When he opened the door, I’m pretty sure he nearly shit his drawers. Who could blame him? I imagined it must have been pretty shocking to see the woman he had just slaughtered standing there alive and well. To my knowledge, Vinnie had not known Camille had a twin. I looked just as she had the day he killed her, before he sliced her to bits and stole her from me.

“You!” was all he could seem to say.

“Yes, me. Surprised to see me?”

“But you’re dead!”

“Correction. You’re the one who’s dead!”

I stepped into the room and kicked the door shut behind me while he just stood and stared with his jaw hanging slack. I had the muzzle of the Beretta against his forehead before his little pea brain even registered that I was real.

I had the element of surprise to my advantage, but that would get old really fast, once the asshole got over the shock of seeing me alive.

I slapped one end of the handcuffs against his wrist as I shoved him backward into the bathroom, keeping him moving to keep him off balance. Moving quickly, I cuffed him to the handicap railing beside the toilet. He realized what was happening too late. He tried to defend himself by swinging at me with his free arm, but I ducked out of the way with ease.

“I guess you thought you’d never see me again, you murdering fuck!” I taunted.

He just stared at me, eyes bulging in terror.

“When you chop a girl’s head off, it’s pretty much a given that she won’t come after you. But just answer me one thing, you sick piece of shit. Why’d you have to cut her tits off? What the fuck is wrong with you, anyway?”

I struggled to keep my voice steady as rage boiled up inside me at the thought of what he’d done to Camille.

He looked confused. “What?”

“You fucking heard me. I want to know why you had to slice her tits off and feed them to her. For a cop, you’re one sick puppy.”

“What’re you talking about? I’m no cop!”

“And I suppose you’re going to tell me you didn’t kill Camille either.”

“Who?”

I drove my boot into his ribs out of sheer frustration. God, but he was stupid!

“Me! You stupid fuck!” I leaned forward, pointing at my face. “Look at this face! Do you recognize it?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t kill you.”

“Of course not!” I screamed, “I’m alive! But my sister isn’t, thanks to you, and now I’m going to do to you what you did to her!” I was livid that he refused to admit what he’d done, even with his life being threatened.

“I didn’t kill her!” he whined.

“Yeah? Then how’d you know she was dead?”

“I saw it on TV and someone told me it was her.”

“Bullshit. Nice try assfuck. Just fucking admit it!” I swung my foot again, this time connecting with his groin.

He grunted in pain but still stubbornly shook his head. He swung his free arm again, making a feeble attempt to grab me. That arm might be problematic. It would have to go.

I went into the other room and turned up the volume on the TV, then strode back into the bathroom, aiming the gun at Camille’s killer. The first shot shattered his elbow, then I moved in and fired another round point-blank into the track-marked inner crook of his arm.

“Try finding a vein now, you junkie sack of shit!”

The arm now dangled uselessly with its joint shattered, only skin and connective tissues holding it together. I slipped my knife out of its sheath and removed the arm with a quick slash. Blood gushed from the severed artery, bathing the bathroom in scarlet as Vinnie thrashed and waved the stump of his upper arm at me. A few more swipes with the knife and his already-tattered jeans were in ribbons. I yanked them off and discovered he was naked underneath.

Huh.
I’d had him pegged for the fancy leopard-skin bikini type, not commando.
Even easier.

His legs were still free and he tried to kick at me so I grabbed his severed arm and bitch-slapped him with his own hand.

“Every part that offends me, I will cut off. Understand?”

Vinnie nodded. Tears streamed down his face and his eyes bulged from panic. He was afraid for good reason.

“Admit you killed her! Tell her you’re sorry!” I yelled in his face. I wanted a confession before I ended his miserable life.

He shook his head and refused to confess. I kicked him in the balls, once, twice, three times.
 Damn, that felt good.

“Confess!” I demanded.

He had lost control of his bladder while I was kicking him and he was also bleeding from the groin, sitting in a growing puddle of piss and blood.

Inspiration struck me yet again.

I reached down and sliced his balls off before he had time to realize what I was doing. He howled when I held the dripping sac in front of his face.

I rammed the muzzle of the Beretta into his right eye.

“It’s dinner time, asshole.”

He shook his head in protest, clamping his lips shut. I pistol-whipped him in the mouth, smashing out his front teeth. I crammed the barrel of the gun into his mouth, using it to pry his jaw open, then shoved his nuts into his mouth. He struggled feebly but weakened from loss of blood, he was losing the ability to fight me.

“Swallow,” I said, “if you spit it out you die.”

And damn if he didn’t gulp them right down.

Obedient little pimp. Too bad he wouldn’t confess. I might have let him live. No, on second thought, I wouldn’t.

“Hope the LAPD is proud to have a sick murdering bastard on their force. Just wait’ll they hear about you!”

Vinnie shook his head vigorously.

“Wasn’t… me,” he choked, “not... cop.”

“Fucking save it. I’m done listening to your lies!”

It was time to finish. I sliced off his penis and forced it into his mouth as well.

“Let’s see how well you can deep-throat, motherfucker! Swallow that cock!”

Some might assume that inserting a severed penis into a man’s throat would be similar to feeding him a sausage but I can tell you from personal experience, that is not the case. Once that thing is separated from its blood supply it loses any structural integrity it might have had. It was more like feeding him a condom full of peanut butter.

He started to choke but with a bit of perseverance I managed to get it in there. The fucker kept trying to talk, even as I was shoving his own cock down his throat. He made a garbled noise that sounded like, “Ay-leb. Ay-leb.”

I’m not sure if Vinnie died from choking on his family jewels, or blood loss from his severed genitals. Of course, it might also have been the entrails that spilled out of his gut onto his mutilated lap when I made the final vertical slice from his pubic hair right up to his breastbone.