The_Amazing_Mr._Howard (13 page)

Ryan’s mouth gaped open. He squinted and leaned forward to stare. “What the hell?”

Mr. Howard smiled. “You have had your fun. Now it is my turn.” He flew straight to the ceiling, landing upside down, and scurried like a bug toward Ryan, his actions a blur like an arrow splitting the sky. He flung himself onto the stunned man, fangs tearing into his shoulder.

“Get off me,” Ryan screamed. Bone crunched. Blood exploded onto the walls. The gun dropped from Ryan’s hand and he sank to his knees, the fight out of him. Mr. Howard slammed an open palm against the side of Ryan’s head and he pitched face-first onto the floor. Mr. Howard stood over him. Lips and chin covered in blood. His chest heaved as he struggled to regain his composure. “That will teach you for ruining my shirt.”

***

He sat in a folding chair inside his basement, sipping wine when Ryan regained consciousness. Ryan blinked several times and then struggled against the ropes that held him. His bound feet kicked at the plastic spread beneath him. “Where am I?” he snarled. He winced, his attention shifting to the wound in his shoulder, and then looked downward. “And where are my clothes, you pervert?”

Mr. Howard sighed and put down his glass. “Only someone of your limited mental capacity would associate your nude condition with a sexual act.” He stood and walked over to a table, where he picked up a pair of scissors.

Ryan’s eyes widened and he resumed struggling against the ropes. “What are you doing?”

He approached the young man, his fingers opening and closing the blades with the clicking of steel. “I call them tally whackers.” He grabbed Ryan’s penis, stretched it, and positioned the open blades around his member.

“Don’t do this, please, please. I’ll do anything.”

“I am afraid you have done quite enough already, which is why you are now in this position. But do not be afraid, this will only hurt… a lot.” He snapped the blades together. Blood spurted into the air like steam from a geyser.

Ryan screamed as his feet tap-danced on the plastic. “Fucking shit, it hurts!”

Mr. Howard picked up the severed penis. “A rather poor example of the male anatomy, I must say.”

Tears rolled onto Ryan’s cheeks. “Don’t kill me. Please, please let me go…”

“You do realize doctors can sew them back on, yes? That is what happened with that Bobbitt fellow. As I recall, his wife cut off his penis and drove around with it for a while before tossing the penis out the car window. I believe they found a duck carrying it around. Can you imagine the trauma that poor duck suffered?”

He held the penis against Ryan’s forehead. “I have a needle and thread upstairs. Perhaps, I should attach your member to your forehead, yes? Then everyone will know what a dickhead you really are.”

“I’m going to kill you, you bastard.”

“I should think not.” Mr. Howard seized Ryan’s jaw and forced his chin down. He shoved the penis into Ryan’s mouth and walked away.

The son of a bitch bleeds a lot
. This perception stayed with him as Mr. Howard cleaned the basement. By the time he rolled Ryan’s body into the plastic tarp and carried him upstairs into the backyard, dawn was breaking to the east, a golden sliver of light that pulled back the curtain of night. The sun represented life for most except his kind. He hurried to place large stones over Ryan’s grave. No telling when Willard might come snooping around. Ten minutes passed. The sun’s rays stung the back of his neck, which sizzled like frying bacon. Time to go.

He hawked up phlegm and spit on the grave. It was bad enough he had to kill the bastard, burying him in the backyard was the work of a madman. Still, what choice did he have? Someone would notice the scumbag was missing. They would find blood in Ryan’s house and a revolver that had recently been fired. Mr. Howard touched the spot where the bullet tore into his chest. The wound had healed on the outside, but beneath the skin, it continued to ache. Shovel over shoulder, he returned to the house.

A hot shower did wonders for his psyche. Beneath the water, Mr. Howard experienced a rebirth, a baptism of sorts that cleansed his soul. Only once did he wince at the memory of Ryan’s agony, and this was followed by a smile, which he couldn’t erase, no matter how hard he tried. The man beat women and children. He deserved everything he got. Yes, he must push this lie until it became the truth. With the blood off his hands, he trudged into the master bedroom and collapsed onto the bed.

***

Four o’ clock. He was running late. Mr. Howard slipped into his Fioravanti merino wool suit and slicked back his hair. In the kitchen, he opened the sliding glass door and ventured outside, where the afternoon sun hovered like a bomb about to explode across his world. He strolled over to the grave. “So, Ryan, how are you feeling now? Not too good, I would think.” He flared open his coat. “I look stylish, yes? I must be leaving. Try to make yourself useful while I’m gone. Fertilize the lawn or something.”

***

The parking lot was nearly full by the time he arrived. He recognized the cars that belonged to staff members. An unusually high number of hybrids with a few gas-guzzling SUVs mixed in. Professors Stephenson and Whitmore would ride their bicycles, having long declared cars instruments of the Devil.

After parking, he exited the Mercedes and smoothed his necktie. He hated affairs like this. If the party was for anyone other than Leslie, he would have stayed home. Several students watched him approach the academic center, no doubt wondering why he wore a fedora, long coat, and gloves on such a hot day. He ignored their curious gazes and hurried into the building. Once out of the sun, he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He slipped off his gloves, tucked them inside the pocket of his coat, and hung the coat and hat on a rack inside the lobby.

He followed the sound of hideous music to conference room six. Some nit-wit, probably Van Adams, had hired a tone-deaf band to perform at the party. The lead singer sounded like Boy George going through puberty as he struggled to sing “Tie a Yellow Ribbon around the Old Oak Tree,” a song known to drive men insane, and make dogs chase their tails.

He stepped through the doors. The folding chairs had been removed from the room, opening it up for the guests who milled about in small groups, sipping wine as they tried to sound brilliant. Several tables pushed close to the walls held a variety of food, mostly salads, and pastas.

Leslie stood in a far corner talking with Gordon Robb and Bill Stanley, wealthy alumni. They were major boosters of the football team, not that it mattered. The team hadn’t enjoyed a winning season since Nixon sat in the Oval Office. When she spotted him, a beautiful smile formed on her face. Her reaction made him smile as well. He took a step forward and Professor Whitmore stomped in front of him. “Mr. Howard in the flesh with the sun still out, now I’ve seen everything.”

He resisted a snappy response. The joke around campus was that if the football team ever wanted to win, they should start Professor Whitmore at middle linebacker. Dressed in a ridiculous orange dress, she looked like a pumpkin that needed to be carved. Considering she rode her bicycle everywhere she went, Professor Whitmore should have been in much better condition. He could only imagine the number of Moon Pies she secretly ate. “Melissa, what a surprise.”

She folded her fat arms over her chest. “Why haven’t you stopped by to see me?”

“You know I cannot tolerate the sun. Would you like me to burn like Joan of Arc?”

“You’re such a jokester.” She looked at Leslie. “It’s a shame about the dean leaving. She hired me, you know.”

“Is that right?”

She punched him in the arm and he stumbled backward. “That’s why you need to get out more. Sun or no sun, you need to see more of the world. It’s not good for you to stay cooped up inside all day. It’s not natural.”

“Yes, I agree.”

Her attention shifted to one of the serving tables. “I’d better grab something to eat before it’s gone. I’ve started a diet. Lost two pounds last month.”

“Two pounds you say? Impressive.”

“Well too-da-loo,” she said in passing. “I’ve just got to get me some of those little barbecue wieners.”

Mr. Howard shook his head as she stormed the food tables like a soldier charging onto a beach. As he headed toward Leslie, someone grabbed his arm.

“Mr. Howard, well… this is a surprise… out in the daylight for everyone to see.” Van Adams released him. His head swiveled like a cockatoos as he elevated his chin.

Van Adams had deliberately arranged the event to start during the daytime to prevent him from attending, but Mr. Howard resisted the urge to complain. Instead, he employed a new strategy, hoping to leave Van Adams in a state of confusion for the rest of the evening.

“Luther, it is always a pleasure to see you at one of these events. I heard you organized this one yourself. Excellent job.”

Van Adams’s eyelids became slits behind his glasses. “You’re talking to me, correct? Luther Van Adams, Assistant Dean?”

Mr. Howard patted him on the shoulder. “Yes, of course I am talking to you.” He removed his hand from Van Adam’s shoulder and took in the activity inside the room. “And how does our new dean like the school?”

Van Adams continued to glare. “She likes it just fine.” He pointed a finger. “You’re up to something.”

“What do you mean?”

“I will be watching you, Mr. Howard.”

“Watching me? What on earth for?”

Van Adams backed away slowly. “You heard me, you sneaky bastard. No more of your Jedi mind tricks.”

Leave it to Van Adams to use a reference to
Star Wars
. He probably owned the entire collection of
Star Wars
action figures and played with them every day. Kept them on a shelf beside his plastic Jesus, and Ben Wa balls. Mr. Howard continued through the crowd, acknowledging greeters with a smile and a nod. Leslie stepped past her admirers, arms open wide.

“I’m so glad you could come,” she said, pressing against him. She leaned close to whisper. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get them to change the time until evening.”

“No worries.”

“I saw you talking to Van Adams.”

“He asked me to meet him in the bathroom so he could give me a blow job,” he whispered back.

She put a hand over her mouth to hide a grin. “I believe you know Gordon Robb and Bill Stanley.”

He shook their hands. “Gentlemen, it is always a pleasure to meet men with such unwavering support for our university football team.”

Robb took a drink of punch and licked a stray drop from his top lip. “You’re not much of a football fan, are you?”

“I follow the game from time to time.”

Robb massaged his chin. “All right, Professor. What organization oversees the division I championship?”

“I believe you are referring to the BCS. But have you forgotten that Division I football has gone to a playoff?”

Robb smiled and nodded. “Not bad. Let me try another one. What conference has won the most BCS championships?”

“That would be the Southeastern Conference.”

“Damn,” Robb said, “I guess you proved your point.”

“What I want to know,” Mr. Howard said, “is when this university’s football team will win a national championship.”

“Ha,” Stanley said, “they can’t even win a conference championship. Hell, they’d get beat by half the high schools in this town.”

“More than half,” Robb added, which made everyone laugh.

Leslie touched him on the sleeve. “Gentlemen, if you will excuse us, I must borrow Mr. Howard for a bit.”

“Don’t keep him too long,” Robb said, “I want to hear what he thinks about our new 3-4 defense this year.”

She leaned against him as they walked. “I never realized you were such a football fan.”

A quiet laugh rose in his throat. “I knew they would be here so I went on the computer and researched some basic facts about college football.”

It was her turn to laugh. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t have time for such a thing.” She led him to a quiet corner. “It was nice of everyone to show up. Makes me feel good… as if I’ll really be missed. But the truth is you’re the only one who will truly miss me, and that’s only because of the things I can do for you.”

“Yes, I will miss those things.”

She slipped her hand into his and squeezed. “Have you met the new dean?”

“Not yet.”

“Would you like me to introduce you?”

“Sure, why not? What is she going to do, drive a stake through my heart?”

Leslie steered him toward a woman sitting alone, hunched over a notebook. She massaged her brow as if troubled. “Jennifer, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

She looked up from her papers. Red hair framed a face almost as fair as his. He whispered in Leslie’s ear. “I thought she had black hair?”

Leslie whispered back. “She used to dye it.”

“Is this the famous Mr. Howard?” she said with a pearly white smile.

He bowed. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Dean Tolliver.”

“Please, call me Jennifer.” She closed her notebook with a sigh.

“Homework already?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Goes with the job. Actually, I’m reviewing budget reports. I know, I should be enjoying myself, but the board of trustees is breathing down my neck to make cuts.”

“Now you know why I decided to retire,” Leslie said.

He caught her and Jennifer exchanging furtive glances. The kind women made when flush with desire.

Leslie motioned toward the door. “Would you pardon me? I want to catch Victor James before he leaves.”

“Go right ahead,” Mr. Howard said. He watched her leave and turned to Jennifer, who gestured toward the chair next to her.

“Can we talk a while?” she asked.

“Certainly.” He eased onto the chair, his gaze traveling a path from her slender ankles all the way to her lap. The green in her dress brought out the green in her eyes. He found her quite lovely and it was easy to imagine making love to her. He inhaled through his nose. The smell of blood between her legs was strong and he held back a smile.