Lustmord 1

by Kirk Alex

  “That’s behind me. A man shouldn’t have to harm a feather on a chicken to get an erection. It’s mind over matter. What it really comes down to.”

  “Good,” said Lana.

  “I’ll second that,” said Stella. Pearleen Bell was in agreement on the topic, but said nothing.

  The Jim Jones was smoked down, further small talk continued, but their minds were so blown that they made little sense; all they knew was that they wanted to get back outside where the air smelled better. They thanked Mr. B. and the sidekick. All said that they ought to get together soon, and climbed out, tried to, as Stella lost her balance, tripped, and went down and had to be helped up by her friends. Biggs wasted no time in starting the motor up and pulling out of the parking lot, and the Cadillac was gone in the gray noon haze.

  CHAPTER 101

  Roscoe looked up. He was through inflating his tire. Dropped the pump in one of the baskets in the back and walked up to Pearleen and her voluptuous friends standing next to her off-white ’77 Mustang with the sunroof and the many dings and dents that made the car look something like an eyesore. Not as bad as that beater Ortiz and Felix tooled around in, still . . . There was no real reason for a Mustang such as this to look so shoddy.

  Marty pointed out to the owner that her car needed a paint job and that he knew where she could have it done at a reasonable price. He couldn’t help leering as he said it.

  “I ain’t got the means to paint it myself, but sure can fill in the cracks. Can let the Perez brothers do the rest. It’d be worth it, I think. Car like that.”

  Pearleen let it pass. The fool couldn’t stop ogling. He asked about the song his wife had written for her, and how it was working out.

  “I hear you’re using it in your act.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be using it in my act? That’s why I paid her to write it for me.”

  “I hear crowds are diggin’ it.”

  “It’s a winner. Tell Petunia to write me another.”

  “I sure will. She’ll be glad to hear it; only she’s gonna want more than a hundred bucks for the next one—unless we can work something out.”

  “Just like fatso McCoy. Always on the make.”

  “Can you blame me? I mean, you got some hot body there.”

  “Does that give you the right to treat me like a piece of meat?”

  “Ain’t no need to put on airs with me, honey pie. I know what all you chicks is like. This is Porn Valley. You’ll do anything for blow. Got to the point a good ole boy has to pay through the nose just to get laid, just to get him some poon.”

  “How we live is none of your business, is it, Roscoe? I fuck who I want to fuck—and if you don’t like it, tough shit.”

  “Tell him, Lana,” Stella urged.

  “Why do men have to be such assholes all the time? Why can’t you ever grow up?”

  “All I know is Biggs and that 8-ball he runs with is dangerous. Got some loose screws, if you get the picture.”

  “Why don’t you let us worry about that?” Pearleen was not glaring at him, although she came close.

  “You’re just jealous because the man’s got the Cadillac and all you got is that old bicycle.” Lana was back at it. Needed to remind him. He was asking for it. “Baskets fulla worthless junk. Fucking jealous. I told you: two hundred bucks if you want some, otherwise stay the hell out of my life.”

  The other girls were laughing now.

  “We’ll see who laughs last. Biggs kidnapped a Puerto Rican chick a few years back. You know the one. Did hardcore. Loco Biggs kept her locked up in a coffin—”

  “Mona Please?” Stella knew her. So did the others. Nothing new there. “Mistress Mona? Bitch was into rough sex and shit. Her scene. Dumb cunt had it comin’ to her. Still does it, too. Into whips and leather. Likes it rough. Fuck her. Probably it was her idea to let Biggs do that to her. DA got her to lie about Cecil ’cause they were after him. IRS don’t like him for having that church and not paying his taxes. Fuck them; fuck the government. Always giving people a hard time.”

  “He’s a nutcake. He was convicted in ’78, did a nickel in the bughouse. People I know seen him in the West LA VA more than once, talkin’ to shrinks, gettin’ his medication. Seen him myself over here in the Valley VA. He don’t usually use this hospital ’cause he don’t want folks in the neighborhood to be reminded that he’s unstable. Always was, always will be.”

  “What were you doin’ there?” Lana hadn’t been able to deny the urge to give back as good as the jerk was dishing out. Chauvinist. “Getting your meds?”

  Stella was eager to back her. “Make me sick. Live off your wife like a suitcase pimp. Bastard. You’re worse than a pimp. She supports your fat culo, while you’re riding around on a bicycle fucking with garage sales. Sorry asshole. Get a job. Quit living off your wife.”

  Roscoe did what he could to keep a calm exterior. If he truly pissed them off, he’d never get any beaver later, no matter what he’d be willing to pay.

  “The reason I was at the VA is because somebody give me VD. Good thing I caught it in time. Could’ve wrecked my marriage. Some chicks just don’t give a shit.”

  “You’re a liar,” they snapped back.

  “We take care of ourselves.” Stella Martel made sure the thick-skulled hillbilly got the message. “Have regular checkups. The industry demands it. You are a fucking liar to insinuate that it was one of us you got it from. Redneck rube loser.”

  “Like I said before,” Lana said, “eat your heart out, Roscoe. The man owns that new Cadillac, owns a Rolls-Royce, that house he lives in—all legal. He’s a licensed bishop, and his house is a legitimate church—and nobody, not you, not the IRS, not the North Hollywood PD can change that—”

  “Yeah? What kind of church can it be when he’s got porn chicks over there all the time, doin’ drugs and who knows what else?”

  “How about if you and your wife start minding your own business for a change?” Pearleen Bell had had it. The redneck was pissing her off. “I get so tired of all this crap. Why do people have to be so goddamn nosy?”

  “All I’m saying is he’s a nutjob. Attempted suicide a bunch of times.”

  “I wish you’d commit suicide,” said Lana, drawing sniggers from her pals.

  “You don’t know his mental history.”

  “Like we know yours?”

  “Burns his dick with cigarettes.”

  “How would he do that?” Stella wanted to know. “When the man don’t even smoke?”

  Marty Roscoe shook his head. It was hopeless.

  “Just make sure you bring a condom when you come to see me, Roscoe, and the two hundred bucks.”

  They walked off.

  “Tell you what, how about if I wrap that two hundred dollars of my hard-earned money right around my dick and jerk off with it, Lana? I’d rather do that than let you bitches have it. I work for my money; and I don’t mean on my knees, neither. I do my share; always did my share. My wife ain’t no hooker (that I know of). You got no right to say shit like that. I ain’t no pimp. You got no right to compare what I do to make a dollar to what a pimp does.”

  He waved at the air with an open palm, as if swatting a flying insect that wasn’t worth bothering with, after all.

  “Buncha crack whores.”

  CHAPTER 102

  “I believe it’s time to take the Party Wagon out for a run,” said Biggs to his partner the Deacon Marvin R. Muck, and jammed Gummi Bears and lemon drops in his mouth. Marvin held his hand out and Biggs shook a few lemon drops out of the bag for him.

  “Lemon drop’ be good.” Marvin R. dumped them down the gullet.

  “I like lemon drops. Lemon drops are good. I like trolling for pussy a lot better.”

  Marvin looked up. Noticed they were heading back to the church.

  “Yo. Why we goin’ home?”

  “I think we can use the catatonic’s help this time around.”

  Biggs crunched lemon drops in his mouth. Ground them down. “At th
is rate I won’t have any teeth left before long. Too much sugar, sweets. Not good for your health.”

  Marvin was shaking his head. “Cata—what? The mental retard? Bitch only be in the way, man.”

  Biggs looked at him. “I know what I’m doing. It looks better if you got a girlie with you. It can only help.”

  “You sayin’ I ain’t good enough to bring the bitches in by myself?”

  “I want Patience on the scene. Work in tandem. Cunts will trust to go with someone like her a lot quicker than they will a guy working alone.”

  “Tandem? I don’t be likin’ the sound of it.”

  “Who gives a shit what you like?”

  Marvin shrugged. “The way it always be.”

  “What always ‘be’?”

  “Fuck it. Do it your way.”

  “I intend to.”

  CHAPTER 103

  They pulled up to the church. Marvin hopped out to unlock the gate and Biggs drove the Caddy through. They went inside.

  Patience was cleaned up, given cleaner clothes to wear, and soon enough the three of them were in the Caddy driving north to the secret garage where Biggs kept the Party Wagon, a Ford Econoline 500 cargo van without seats in the back that he preferred to do his trolling in and sometimes the actual torture and killing in.

  Two miles prior to reaching the garage, Biggs had Marvin get in the backseat with her, and hunch down on the floor.

  “Make sure she keeps her head out of sight. Both of you: keep your heads down until I tell you otherwise.”

  Biggs drove down an alley. Stopped at a roll-up garage door with peeling gray paint. Hopped out. Unlocked it. Yanked up on the roll-up and drove the Caddy in. It wasn’t until he had pulled down on the door that he gave the both of them permission to lift their heads, step out of the Cadillac, and climb in the Econoline.

  “Hate bein’ wiff the retard. Ho don’t never be sayin’ nothin’ but I’m cold, I’m cold. Be summertime all the time and ’tard be cold.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Hunker down in the van until I tell you different. Both of you.”

  “Again?”

  “You know the routine. It’s for your own good.”

  Marvin did as instructed. Made sure Patience complied as well. Biggs reached down on the roll-up handle and yanked up on it to reopen it. He got in the Party Wagon and backed it out.

  The sidekick was grumbling.

  “Right. Be for my own good. I get it now. Why we got to play Dick Tracy an’ shit.”

  “Anything happens and we get busted, the less you know the better off you’ll be. It’s that simple.”

  Biggs cleared the garage door. Hopped back out to pull it down. Locked the handle. He was in the driver’s seat. Tearing down the alley. He could hear Marvin talking to the almost there catatonic.

  “See, why we be doin’ all this: if po-leece ever aks us, you don’t never be knowin’ nothin’ ’cause you never seen nothin’. Don’t know where the garage be or nothin’. None a dat. Hear no evil shit, see no evil shit. Somethin’ like dat.”

  “Marvin?”

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “You’re wasting your time with her.”

  “Could be. She don’t be gettin’ none of it. Why I said why bring the ’tard wiff us? She don’t be no good no way.”

  Biggs pulled the van into the parking lot of a vacant antique furniture store. Switched both front and rear plates. Got back in.

  “You can come up now.”

  “That be more like it.”

  CHAPTER 104

  They were on the Hollywood Freeway, heading south, through Hollywood, past Downtown LA. Soon enough Biggs had them on the Long Beach Freeway, taking the Firestone off- ramp, the City of South Gate. He pulled into a Target parking lot.

  It was Saturday afternoon, plenty of cars around, plenty of shoppers, especially younger ones, female type, the kind Biggs was interested in.

  Patience was sitting on the floor in the back, shivering, staring at the bright sun that shone through the windshield. Having had Marvin clean her up for the occasion had been a smart move. She looked presentable. They’d washed her face, combed her hair out and given her those acceptable clothes to wear. Never mind that they were clothes they had gotten off previous victims; they looked nice enough on her. They had even sprayed her armpits and crotch with deodorant in an effort to mask her body odor, and on top of that, had her gargle with mouthwash.

  “Listen up, Marvin, you better make goddamned sure the zombie doesn’t get lost in the crowd, make sure she doesn’t drift off on her own.”

  “I got you, Cecil.”

  “You choose. You know what I like, and then step back, keep your distance, and let Patience do the rest.”

  “Patience could do the rest. Got it.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Prob’ly.”

  Biggs reached down for the bottle of mouthwash in his black bag. “Hand it to her. She better gargle some more. The only thing she’ll draw with that breath is bugs.”

  Marvin moved to the back. Had the woman gargle. When she was through, she spit it out inside the van.

  “Not in here. You were supposed to spit it outside. Out there. Not in here.”

  “Want her to do some more?”

  “No; that’s enough.” Biggs looked at Patience. “Are you listening to all this?”

  “Can you please turn the heat up?”

  “Bullshit. How can you be cold when it’s eighty-five degrees outside? It’s all in your head.”

  “I’m cold; that’s all I know. I’m freezing.”

  “I told you she be gone. Head ain’t right. Got to tell her everything ’bout fifty time’—and she still don’t be gettin’ it.”

  “Yeah? Almost as bad as you.”

  Cecil handed her a joint.

  “You know what you’re supposed to say, right? So we don’t have to go over it again. We’re doing what we did before, right? Remember? Your friend’s got more weed in the van; great shit: weed, toot, ’ludes, crystal meth, hillbilly heroin, and some other goodies. And your friend’s prices are reasonable. They won’t get gouged; your friend is not a gouger. Got all that, Patience?”

  Patience said nothing. Stared at the sun through the glass as though wanting to reach out to it. Needing its warmth.

  “You got all that, bitch, or do I have to give you another beating right here in the van? Say something.”

  Patience McDaniel remained silent. Biggs started to get out of his seat and Patience nodded her head.

  “My friend’s prices are reasonable.”

  Biggs sat back down. He looked at Marvin. “Keep a close eye on her. Understand?”

  Marvin said he did. Biggs gave him a joint. “If you latch onto something really good and it looks like it won’t take, you got them on the hook but it looks like they may slip away, use that; move in and use that other joint. Do what you have to, but get them to the Party Wagon. Stay away from couples if you can. I don’t want to deal with anyone too big if I don’t have to. A young cunt by herself would be ideal, even two together is okay.”

  “I got you, Cecil.”

  “You got all that? Are you listening?”

  “I be listenin’.”

  “You won’t fuck up on me?”

  “I won’t fuck up on you.”

  “I don’t want you wasting good dope on some chunky fifty-year-old lizard butt hag with dentures and thick ankles.”

  “I ain’t gonna do that to you, Cecil. I know what you like.”

  Biggs was looking at Patience again. “And you—listen up. You so much as try to take off or tip the assholes off or do anything stupid and your punishment will be far worse than anything you can imagine. Do what you’re told and do what you did before. You got that?”

  Patience stared in silence. The bishop was forced to get out of his seat again. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her this way.

  “I said you got that?”

  “Yes. I got that.”

&
nbsp; “Then get with it. Go on. Take off.” Remembered something. A detail they’d overlooked. Biggs dug his hand back into the black bag. Slapped a fake stash on Marvin’s face that fairly concealed the discolored area above the upper lip and nostrils. Tossed him a black ball cap with the purple, sweat-stained bill. Patience was handed a brown wig with long, blond and auburn streaks in it. She held it in her hands, staring. Did nothing with it.

  “Get it on her.”

  Marvin did so. Leaving the wig askew.

  “Want something done right? Do it yourself.”

  Biggs made the proper adjustment so that the wig did not appear to be a wig and served its intended purpose. He handed her a pair of sunglasses with rose-tinted lenses. It was appropriate. The way she saw the world. At least she did not require help putting the shades on.

  Cecil opened the back door for her.

  “Go for it.”

  Marvin heaved the side door open and stepped down. Biggs waited to see if he had enough sense to close the damn door without being reminded. This time he did. Slid the door back into place and even walked around to the back and helped Patience climb down. Just like a real gentleman. Water carrier exhibited enough intelligence to close this door as well.

  What do you know, thought Biggs. It always made life easier when things went the way they were supposed to, no matter how minor or seemingly insignificant.

  CHAPTER 105

  He checked to make sure his guns were loaded. He’d brought a 9mm with him, as well as the .357 Magnum this time. There was the Mossman 500 shotgun that he kept in the oblong box just in case.

  He had plenty of handcuffs, a tire iron, claw hammer, baseball bat, two bottles of chloroform, shovels, a pickaxe, blankets. It was all there in the van, and he had a tough time controlling his rising excitement. Thoughts of what was about to (possibly) take place had the adrenaline pumping.

  It always had this effect on him, the excitement of it, element of danger. There was always that chance that something might go wrong, that the goofy black woman would screw up, that she might draw a couple to the Party Wagon and that he might discover that one of them was a gigantic male who would not be easy to control.