by Brian Rella
***
The Alibi was a shit-hole dive bar. The neon sign in the window flickered the middle “i” in “Alibi.” Inside, the place smelled like stale beer and body odor. There was a pool table in the back with a couple of tattooed kids playing. Roy was thirty minutes early so he sat down at one of the many empty barstools. He noticed names and dirty limericks carved into the wood of the bar and read them for a few seconds. He got bored and looked back at the pool game going on in the back, staring at one of the pool player’s tattoos, trying to make out what it was. The guy stared back, furrowing his brow, and Roy dropped his eyes immediately feeling a wave of panic wash over him. He put one foot on the sticky floor, about to leave.
“What’ll you have?” the bartender said.
Roy gawked at him, not quite sure if he was staying or going.
The little voice in his head told him to stay, so he did. Roy wasn’t much of a drinker anymore. It made him kind of loopy with his medication, but ordered a beer anyway and sipped at it.
Roy had finished three beers before Lizette showed up. She was a skinny girl with light brown skin and long, flowing blond hair that Roy thought was a wig. She wasn’t very attractive, but Roy didn’t care. She had a small scar on her lip and looked worn out, like she’d had a hard life. Her black miniskirt was barely covering her sagging ass and a black bra showed through her see-through leopard-print blouse. Roy could see that her nipples were hard. She locked eyes with Roy and walked right up to him, and smiled slyly, like she knew something he didn’t.
Roy ogled her nervously. “Um…Lizette.”
“And you must be Roy.”
Roy gulped audibly.
“You gonna buy me a drink or what?” she said and batted her eyes at him.
Roy called the bartender over. He glanced from Roy to Lizette, who he looked at suspiciously.
“Relax, Bobby,” Lizette said, the sweetness gone from her voice. “We’re just meeting for a drink. Nothin’ else, I swear.”
“I see you go to the bathroom together, you’ll leave here missing teeth,” he said as he pulled out a short club from under the bar and tapped it on the bar, looking at Roy.
“You got nothing to worry about,” Lizette said as she touched Roy’s thigh. “Just one drink, Bobby, OK? I’ll have a Cosmo. Put it in a pint glass, would ya, please?”
Bobby grunted and went to make her drink.
Lizette turned back to Roy. He felt a bead of sweat trace down one of his sideburns.
She smiled and Roy saw her yellowed teeth. “Bobby and me go way back.” She winked at him. “Now tell me, Roy, you want to party with me tonight?”
He was nervous as hell and sweating. His armpits were soaked. But he wanted her bad. Needed her. “Um, yeah,” he said, eagerly, to her breasts.
She laughed a little. “Is this your first time on a date, Roy?”
Roy thought about telling her about his horrible love life and then thought again. She wasn’t asking him about that. She was asking him if he’d been with a pro before. He hadn’t and thought it best to be truthful.
“Um, no, I mean yes, um—I mean it’s my first time on a date like this,” he said, and wiped his brow.
Her drink came and the bartender took a ten from the pile of money in front of Roy. Lizette nodded to Bobby and took three long draws from the pint glass, nearly emptying the glass. Roy spotted a tattoo on her arm. It was the face of a skull biting a knife.
The skull started to move and a tattoo hand appeared, taking the knife from between the skull’s teeth, reaching out from her arm and toward Roy. The arm was raised as if it were going to stab him. Roy felt his chest tighten as he stared bug-eyed at the hand creaking toward his face. He felt the urge to run, but the voice in his head told him to stay and he obeyed.
He grimaced, and slipped off the bar stool, almost falling to the floor. Her expression changed and she shot a wary look at him. “You okay, Roy?”
He flitted his eyes back to the tattoo. It was back on her arm, the knife between its teeth. “I’m good,” he croaked. “I’m just a little tipsy.” The voice in his head told him to relax. He faked a smile to Lizette, hoping she wouldn’t see through his façade.
She waved him toward her with her finger and he leaned in, panting. He could see down her half-open shirt. She smelled like sweat, cigarettes, and cheap, flowery perfume. He continued looking down her shirt while she whispered in his ear. “It’s one hundred for a half hour. I don’t do any kinky stuff. You feel me?” she said, running her hand along the inside of his thigh.
Roy was aroused. “I feel you,” he said, still looking down her shirt.
“Good, baby,” she whispered. “You got the cash?”
“Yes.”
“Come on then. I got a place around the corner.”
She pushed him back, downed the rest of her drink, then got off the stool and headed for the door, putting an extra wiggle in her walk as she went. Roy got up and followed.
***
She led him to an unmarked building on 11th Avenue that looked industrial. There was a loading dock shuttered and graffiti was sprayed all over the once-white door. Lizette pulled out a key and went in through the entrance next to the loading dock door. Inside was a big, dark-skinned man sitting in a chair watching something on his phone. He looked up, saw Lizette, and nodded. Turning his gaze, he looked Roy up and down, smirked, then went back to his phone.
“Come on, baby,” Lizette said, guiding him up the stairs.
She brought him to a small room on the third floor that had a dresser and a bed.
“Put the money on the dresser,” she said.
Roy took the money out of his pocket and placed $100 on the dresser and turned back to Lizette. She had a glass pipe between her lips and was flicking a lighter to the tip. Thick, white smoke filled the tube, and she sucked it into her lungs. She blew it out and it hovered above her, the chemical smell filling the room. She hiked up her spandex skirt and he saw she wasn’t wearing any underwear. “Come on, baby, let’s get this over with,” she said, lying back on the bed.
Roy stepped toward her, unbuttoning his pants. By the time he got to the bed, his pants were down and he was full mast.
Lizette looked at his manhood and giggled. “Look at that little guy. I ain’t even gonna feel you up in this coochy.” She laughed long and hard, pointing at him.
She’s laughing at you, Roy. Are you paying this fucking whore to laugh at you? She just told you that you have a small dick. Who does this bitch think she is? You gonna let her do that to you? You gonna let some crack whore emasculate you, Roy? Huh? Like you let Pierson shit all over you? Now a hooker you’re paying is gonna shit on you, too?
Roy stopped his approach as the humiliation covered him and stuck to his skin like black tar. The voice in his head got louder.
This fucking whore is laughing at you. What are you gonna do about it? You gonna pay a hooker to laugh at you? Is that what you’re going to do, you WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!
A loud buzzing noise filled Roy’s head. The hazy smoke above her swirled and took form. Roy could see the ambiguous shape of a skull in the air. It looked at Roy, laughed at him, and gnashed its smoky, white teeth. His ears began to ring and pulse. He clenched his fists and felt the rage rise in him. No—he wasn’t going to let her laugh at him. He wasn’t. He’d taken enough abuse at work and he wasn’t going to pay for that here. This was supposed to be enjoyable, not humiliating.
“What are you laughing at?” he growled.
She kept chuckling until she met his eyes. She must have seen something she didn’t like and stopped laughing abruptly. Her face changed, her eyes went flat, and she stiffened on the bed.
She leaned forward and lunged for the nightstand.
Roy leapt toward the bed and his full weight landed on top of her tiny frame, pinning her down. She screamed and he grabbed the pillow from her side and shoved it over her face to muffle the noise. She struggled beneath him, her small body twisting under his bulk, tr
ying to escape, but it was no use. He was straddling her stomach and had both hands on either side of the pillow, covering her head and the tops of her shoulders.
The ringing and pulsing in his ears blocked out all other sounds. He was in an impenetrable place where nothing but rage existed. Roy’s face contorted as he unleashed the fury that had been building in him. He was freeing himself of the months of pressure and stress pent up within him and his fingers throbbed as he gripped the pillow with all his strength, feeling and hearing the fabric rip as he pressed down with his full weight and force on her.
Her muffled screams vibrated through the pillow and fueled a powerful energy that flowed through him and out his arms and hands as he smothered her. She clawed at his arms, trying to free herself, and Roy could smell the sweat and fright and desperation in the air. As her struggling became frenzied, it fed his sense of power, his feeling of release. She fought hard and Roy gritted his teeth, pushing down and down and down, harder on the pillow.
She soon stopped struggling, her body going limp. Roy held the pillow over her face for a few more seconds, his knuckles white. He finally released the pillow and got off of her. She was dead.
He stood there, at the side of the bed, half naked, staring at her. Her mouth was opened, her eyes were closed. That sweet smell of cheap, flowery perfume hung in the air as the ringing in his ears subsided. He looked her half-naked body up and down, basking in the thrill and enjoyment of what he’d just done.
She deserved it. That’ll teach her to laugh. You did good, Roy.
Roy was nodding as the voice whispered in his ear. He felt his heart beating a smooth and steady rhythm in his chest and a calmness came over him. His muscles relaxed; the release that he had been wanting for so many months had set him free.
He wondered what she had been reaching for in the nightstand and walked over to it and slid open the drawer. Inside was a revolver and a switchblade. He picked up the gun first, felt the weight of it in his hand, and looked down the barrel. He’d never fired a gun before, in fact, this was the first time he’d held one in his hand. He aimed it at the wall and could see the bullets in the chamber from the dim light coming through the window. “Bang,” he said gently, moving the gun up and back slightly, like he had just fired it. He wore a sinister grin as he placed the gun back on the nightstand.
He picked up the knife and pushed the button on the side. A five-inch blade shot out the top. His grin spread wider. “You gonna laugh at me, bitch, huh?” He made stabbing motions in the air, gnashing his teeth and grunting as he thrust the knife forward, the extra weight around his middle jiggling with the motion. He giggled. It felt good. He felt relaxed and strong.
He put the knife next to the gun and got dressed. Looking one last time at Lizette, he put the knife in his pocket and tucked the gun in his waistband behind him, like they did in the movies. He left the room, scratching his ear. The whispers were loud now, filling his head.
The man downstairs will be waiting. He might be suspicious. Walk right out the door. If he tries to stop you, you know what to do.
Roy walked down the stairs toward the exit, calm and cool. He stepped from the stairwell and into the entrance hall. The guard was still looking at something on his phone as Roy approached the door.
“Yo!” the guard said. Roy stopped walking, but remained facing the door. “You forgetting something, man?” the guard said.
Roy faced the man and cocked his head to the side. “I don’t think so,” he said, feigning surprise in his voice.
The guard stood and came around from his desk, leaving his phone on the table. He was a tall black man, over six feet tall with an athletic build, bulky but sleek. He came inches from Roy’s face.
“You gotta pay me too,” he said.
“Oh,” Roy said, reaching into his pocket. “Here you go,” he said nonchalantly.
The flick of the switchblade barely registered in the guard’s eyes as Roy brought the knife up and stabbed the man in the neck. He plunged the knife deep, almost the full five inches, feeling the blade slice through the man’s meaty neck. He yanked the blade out as the man’s hand went to his neck and he stumbled backwards. Roy charged, knife first. The guard was mid-fall as the knife sank into his cheek. Roy yanked the knife down and out, ripping his face open, spraying blood all over the floor and Roy. A gurgling noise came from the man’s throat as he flailed on the floor.
Roy stood back and watched as the man flopped around the floor, like a dying fish gasping for air in an inch deep puddle of water. Splatter flew across the room and onto the wall. The man tried to stand, slipped and fell back to the ground. Then his movement slowed, and finally stopped all together as his life ended.
Roy wiped the blade on his pant leg, smirking at the man on the floor. He closed the knife, dropped it in his pocket, and left. On his way home, he hardly noticed people passing him by, gawking at his bloody face and hands. He was just a few blocks from his house and then you’ll be inside anyway, the whisper in his ear told him. The voice was comforting now and Roy didn’t try to hide from it. He embraced it.
Upstairs, Roy undressed and showered, then put on his pajamas, and fell right to a deep, contented sleep.
***
That night Roy had a dream—he was flying. There was something dark next to him during his flight. Something humanlike, but more a silhouette, a shape without distinct features. The figure had the voice of the whisper in Roy’s head and they were talking. They were talking about tomorrow and what Roy was going to do. What Roy needed to do.
Roy awoke, refreshed. No noises or sensations had woken him up during the night. No banging noises in the middle of the night. No crawling or itchy feelings on his body. No buzzing in his head. No foul stench. He felt rested. He felt confident. He felt like a different person. He looked in the mirror and hardly recognized the bright-eyed man staring back at him. His physical looks hadn’t changed, but something in his eyes had. There was a gleam that hadn’t been there before.
He slicked his combover down, adjusted his glasses, got dressed, and started off for work. The knife in his pocket and the gun were in his waistband, under his polo shirt.
***
Are you ready?
“I am ready,” Roy said to himself in the elevator. People looked at him and he smiled ear to ear, meeting their stares. They dropped their eyes and Roy sniggered.
Roy stepped out of the elevator and onto the trading floor. He looked over the rows of monitors and saw the top of Pierson’s head. “I’m ready,” he muttered.
He walked down the aisle and turned left toward Pierson’s row, stroking the knife in his pocket, his thumb circling the button on the knife playfully as he approached. He turned into Pierson’s row and went to his desk.
He stopped playing with the knife in his pocket. “Who are you?” Roy asked. Someone else was sitting in Pierson’s desk.
The man turned, “I’m Max, the new trader. Who are you?”
“Where’s Pierson?”
“I don’t know who Pierson is. Today’s my first day. Hey, do you know how to get tech support? My workstation needs some adjustments.”
Roy ignored him and turned and went back to his desk. He logged into his computer and ran a query on the HR database. The query finished running and returned Pierson’s home address. Roy left.
When he got outside, he took the number-four train down to Union Square, got out, and headed south, toward University Avenue where Pierson lived. He arrived and the doorman held the door for him. Inside, there was another man at the foyer desk as Roy went by. “Sir…Sir! You have to be announced, sir,” the man said. Roy stopped.
He turned and faced the man, put on a false smile, and said. “Hi, I’m Sam from Sterling Capital. I work with Charlie Pierson. Could you tell him I’m here, please?”
The man frowned and then went back to the desk and picked up the phone. Roy watched as the man nodded and then motioned for Roy to go on up. Roy thanked him and stepped into the elevator.
/> The voice was quiet in Roy’s head as the elevator doors closed shut. He pushed PH and put his hand in his pocket to caress the switchblade as scenarios played through his mind and the elevator rose. How many ways and places he would shred Pierson into tiny pieces. The smells and pleasure from the killings the night before were still fresh in his mind and the more he thought about it, the more energized he became. By the time he reached the penthouse floor, Roy had the grin of a lunatic on his face and was shaking with excitement. The elevator dinged to a stop, and he stepped outside.
The door to Pierson’s apartment was right in front of him. He took the knife from his pocket and flicked it open. He balanced it on his fingers as he planned how this would go down. He would barge through the door and…
The door was open. Roy could see the black sliver leading into the apartment through the six-inch space of the door, just slightly ajar. He stepped closer, listening for sounds inside the apartment. The only thing he heard was his breathing.
He raised the knife and slowly pushed the apartment door open. The apartment was dark. The curtains were drawn and the lights were off. There was some dim light coming from beyond the entranceway. Roy peered around the corner, following the light.
He slinked down the short hall and turned right, where the light was coming from. He stood in the entranceway of the dining room. There were candles all over the room. A candelabrum stood on each end of a long, elegant dining room table.
Five people were there, two on the left and two on the right, of a person sitting in a high-back dining room chair—it was Pierson.
“Welcome, Roy,” Pierson said. “Won’t you come in and sit down?”
Roy looked about the room. A woman and a man sat to Pierson’s left. The woman had red hair and thin lips. Her eyes were crystal blue; she was chiseled and beautiful. The man next to her had acne scars on his face. His nose was too big for his narrow face and he was overweight. On Pierson’s right was a similar pair, though this time the man was handsome while the woman was homely. There was an empty seat across from Pierson.