"I don't want that, you stupid old drunk fuck. Do I look like some kind of faggot to you?" I said, starting to get impatient.
"Hey man, it's all good. You just got to be more clear about what you're asking, is all. You know misunderstandings can happen." A filthy toothless smile had taken over the majority of his face. He put his hands down and relaxed his posture. "So, what is it that I can do you for?"
"I need to find a reliable dealer. Somebody discreet."
"Well, well, well." The drunk smiled again, this time even wider.
"Can you help me out or not?"
"Yes, Sir! Ole Jerry Jones can hook you up!" He took an exaggerated bow.
"Well?" I was definitely getting impatient at this point.
"Alright friend, be cool. What you wanna do is go down the block here and ask the boys on the corner to talk to Romeo. He gonna hook you up."
I took a twenty-dollar bill out of my pocket and handed it to him.
"Hey, thank you, friend. Any time you need sumpin', you remember Ole Jerry Jones, ok?"
I walked away without saying a word, listening to the drunk's cackling. I slumped my shoulders and set out to find this Romeo character.
Locating him was not the problem, getting through the curtain of thugs was.
The group of wannabe gangsters sat on the stoop of the dilapidated apartment building listening to some God-awful excuse for music. It was the kind of music that looped some phrase about the "po-leese" or about "cappin'" someone.
The trio of losers bobbed their heads in time to some imaginary beat that only they could discern. I wondered to myself if any of them was aware that they were white.
"Any of you guys know Romeo?" I asked as politely as I could, not wanting to start any trouble.
"Who's askin', yo?" The leader stood up and assumed a posture of offense. He puffed his chest and hooked a thumb into his too low waistband.
"Nobody but me," I replied casting my eyes down, playing the part.
"What you want, Nigga?" He puffed more, establishing what he thought was dominance. My blood began to boil watching this fool play a ridiculous caricature of a thug.
"Ole Jerry Jones said I could score some weed from Romeo."
"You got green, Nigga?"
"Yeah, I got green."
"Ah-ight, Nigga." He motioned for me to follow him into the building. I walked up the steps into a hallway painted with various renditions of the word 'fuck'. Some of them were quite artistic. Wasted talent on wasted lives.
"Wait right here, Muthafucka."
I have to say that I did not care for being called 'Nigga', but I liked being called 'Muthafucka' even less. I just wanted this to be over.
I was quickly summoned into a shitty apartment where I sat at a shitty table where a shitty little man doled out a bag of shit quality weed. I left feeling like I needed a shower, but happy that I had the tools that my task required.
I drove away whistling a happy tune and smiling ear to ear. My new little blonde beauty was waiting for me.
Chapter 12
I sat in the van and just watched for what seemed like an eternity. She stood on the corner and bit her already short fingernails. When she thought no one was looking, she spit the severed nails onto the sidewalk. Disgusting habit, nail biting. Considering what she was putting in her filthy mouth every day, I guess it didn't matter.
She was not quite like the rest of them. Dressed in a denim skirt and a T-shirt with a large set of lips and a protruding tongue, she was nowhere near half-naked like the other whores. She looked like a good girl.
I knew better.
She was no different, no better. This little whore may as well have been completely naked, peddling her body to anyone who looked twice.
I decided that it was now or never, and I switched the ignition to on. I slowly drove to the area in front of the blonde girl and motioned for her to come closer.
As she approached the window, I noticed that she was nowhere near as young as she had appeared from afar. She could not have been any more than twenty-two years old but her face was that of someone much older. Just the few months she must have been on the street had manifested themselves as deep wrinkles on her forehead and around her eyes. Her skin was rough and worn, but still had the hint of a youthful glow deep underneath. I could tell that her voice had been hardened by her years of smoking anything that would catch fire.
"You looking to party, Sweetheart?"
""Yes, I am."
"Why, you're just a baby!" She said, laughing.
"Don't laugh at me," I warned her.
"Sorry, Lover." She straightened up. "Fifty bucks for a straight fuck, twenty for a blow job. Anything kinky, we can figure it out."
"Well, I want a straight fuck and a blow job."
"Alright then, seventy bucks." Her smile widened. "We can go around the corner."
"How about the back of the van?"
"Naw man, I don't do that." She backed away a step. "Too many weirdos out here."
"Hey, do I look like a weirdo to you?" I tried to sound as non-threatening as I possibly could. "Besides I have weed, and we can't very well smoke that around the corner now can we?"
Her eyes lit up, and I could see a hint of the youth that her body betrayed.
"Well, you are kinda cute." She smiled again as she made up her mind.
"Well, hop in then."
As we drove around the corner, the blonde whore reached out her hand and began stroking my thigh, making her way to my crotch. I stopped her before she was able to make contact, not wanting this bitch to cloud my mind with her tricks.
"Hey now, not yet," I told her and removed her hand.
She put out her lip in an exaggerated pout, trying to play her part. I put on an affected smile, and touched her face. The skin of her cheek felt rough and dry. I had a strong urge to wash my hand.
We pulled over in the dark alley, and she immediately began fumbling at my pants, eager to get her mouth on my dick. Once again, I stopped her gently.
"Let's get high first, Doll. I'm a little bit nervous."
"It's your dime. Just so ya know, we gotta get going, here. Time is money, Honey," she said, losing her previous affectations and relaxing into her seat.
I pulled out a joint and held it out. The whore grabbed at it, but I pulled away.
"Get in the back first." I exited the van and began walking around to the other side.
I could hear her sigh from outside the van as I opened the back sliding door. She hopped out and climbed in. As she situated herself inside the cargo area, I leaned in and slammed my fist into the side of her head.
After a momentary daze, the whore growled at me, baring her teeth. She had transformed from a rough around the edges slut to a caged wildcat. Her own fists swung wildly as she fought to get out of the van. I did my best to stop the violent blows, but her right fist connected with my lip and I felt hot, coppery liquid start to flow over my teeth.
I ignored the sting in my lip, and finally got hold of her hands. I began punching her repeatedly in the face and head, trying to end this struggle. Her kicking legs connected with my back, sending bolts of pain through my ribcage. I knew that she was too strong for me in her current survivalist state.
I began to feel my own panic setting in as she struggled to free herself from my grasp. One of her hands slid out of my grip and she started swinging her fist at me. Her balled up hand connected with my ear and I cried out in pain. I did the only thing that I could think to do, I grabbed hold of a long screwdriver from the toolbox I had put together.
Her eyes bulged from their bloody, bruised sockets as she saw the shaft plunging towards her face. She stopped hitting me and put her hand up in defense.
I slammed the tool down so hard into her throat that I felt it embed in the wooden panel floor of the van. She let out a garbled screech and grabbed at the screwdriver handle. Standing back, I watched her struggle like a bug pinned to a corkboard.
The excitement that I had expe
cted to rage through my body only manifested itself as a slight tingle, and only a moderate hardening inside of my jeans.
What I felt more than anything at that moment was letdown. I had worked up my excitement at the ritual finally coming to fruition, that this was nothing but utter disappointment. As my almost undetectable erection drained away, I walked over and pulled the screwdriver from her throat. It gave some resistance, and as it disconnected from her flesh, there was a wet tearing sound followed by the slight hiss of the last bit of air exiting the whore's windpipe.
I have to admit that my erection reared its head once again, but I had to be smart and get rid of her right away.
I ignored the desire and jumped into the van. As I pushed with my boot, her dead body rolled out onto the pavement with a thump.
I watched for a minute, and realized that even though I had been somewhat infatuated with her only ten minutes before, she was now nothing but another piece of trash to me. Her bloody corpse meant nothing more to me than the mattress balanced against the broken fence or the stray pieces of newspaper and broken bottles that littered the filthy alleyway. I stepped out, careful not to leave a footprint in the pool of blood that had formed on the ground outside of the van's sliding door.
I grabbed hold of the piss-stained mattress and pulled it down over the dead whore. I wasn't really trying to hide the body, just maybe delay its discovery a bit.
My plan seemed to have worked. The body of Katherine D'Agostino was discovered three weeks later, badly decomposed and almost unidentifiable. Her family appeared on television, pleading for any information that could lead to the capture of the monster that took their sweet baby girl.
It made me sick to watch. Even her family had to have known that she was nothing but a cock-sucking piece of garbage. She was found where she had belonged, thrown amongst the other trash.
The only thing that I cared about was that I was once again unable to completely fulfill these urges that I had. This was now a case of, excuse my phrasing, time to shit or get off the pot. I had thought that my plan had been complete, but I found out again that I had been dead wrong.
Chapter 13
I paced the floor, still unsure of what I was doing wrong. Something had to change. I decided that a few more days with the notebook was probably exactly what I needed.
This notebook was rapidly becoming like my Bible. I consulted and studied it and poured over it like the most devout seminary student, praying to be shown some sort of divine wisdom. Wanting some light to go off in my head and in my heart that showed me the exact path I needed to take. Although I did learn more and more from every page, including the ones I had read before, there was no light to be found. No magic piece of information fell directly into my lap, no visions of ethereal virgins, no Jesus weeping, no stigmata to be found.
Now I know this might sound strange to most people but for the first time in my life, I got down on my knees and prayed. Now what might seem even stranger is someone who is trying his hardest to break one of the main commandments, actually praying to God for help in doing it.
Now in the days before or the days since, I have never been a religious man. Just understand that I was desperate. I needed this to work.
I don't know about all of that psychoanalytical drivel, but it may have been because I needed, subconsciously, to please my father. Maybe I needed to prove to myself that I could in fact do it better than him.
Whatever the reason, it was like a burning ache in the core of my body. I fantasized and daydreamed about my first fully successful kill all day, every day. I resolved that nothing was going to stop me, and that I would do anything under the sun to make it happen.
I spent all of my time worshipping at this altar built by my father and his unknown companion. An altar dedicated to the sacrifice of the filth that roamed the streets. The disease-spreading sluts that served only one purpose. Affronts to decent people, these ridiculous Jezebels. There was no salvation to be found for them. I knew that now.
I barely ate. I only studied, formulating yet another plan. My mind and body ached for this to work. I needed to complete my task like I needed air.
I lay in bed every night with the lights out, fantasizing about all of the women that I would decimate. The whores that I would put down like the filthy animals they were. Nothing but filth that I would wash away from the face of the earth.
I knew that deep down I had always felt this way. I had always known that these bitches that walked around with their asses puckered tight and their noses in the air, acting like they were chaste and virginal were nothing but filthy, nasty whores. Every one of them would fall to their knees and suck my cock if they thought that it would get them what they wanted. Pathetic.
I will admit that when I was in school, I had played the fool for a few of them. I was always a fairly good-looking kid, and I took good care of my body. I played football, and did well in gym class, so I got the attention of some of the girls.
I had been duped into thinking that a few of them were good and pure. I had truly thought that I would be able to find a sweet girl that I could make all mine. We would get married; I would get a decent job at the mill, or maybe working construction. She would keep the house and raise our kids.
When we married, she would be a virgin that was shy and quiet. I would teach her all about how to please me sexually, and she would be dedicated to making me happy.
Foolish as it sounds, it had been my dream.
Most of the girls that I went to school with walked around in low cut tops and skirts that barely covered their asses, if at all. Dirty gutter sluts that deserved any trouble that found them.
There was one, though. Sherilynn Grimes was her name. She had long, silky brown hair, the color of milk chocolate. Her eyes were dark brown, almost black. She was a beautiful girl of fifteen years old. She dressed in long skirts and blouses that left everything to the imagination. The only thing that you could make out was the curve of her little breasts.
The other girls made fun of her because she had never kissed a boy, and they had all been fucking everything with a cock since grade school. She even blushed every time those girls talked about all of the sex they were having.
Sherilynn was pure, and I just knew that she would be the one for me.
When the winter formal came around, I mustered up the strength to ask her if she would go with me. I was sixteen, and already had my license, so getting there was not a problem. She blushed when I asked and told me that she would have to ask her daddy for permission. I thought that at the moment, I was in love.
She came to school the next day and told me that he had said it was okay for her to go, but that her daddy wanted to meet me first. She said that he would be home that night, and I could come over at seven. She all but skipped away from me and went on to class.
That night, I drove over to the farmhouse that Sherilynn shared with her father. Her mother had passed when she was small, so it was just the two of them. It was only six O'clock when I arrived, so I parked my mother's car out of the way, and waited, not wanting to look too eager.
After a few minutes of sitting there, just staring out the window, I heard a sound. It was Sherilynn, yelling something.
I quietly got out of the car and made my way closer to the house. As I approached the window, I could make out what she was saying.
"Daddy, please."
I peeked in and what I saw made me sick to my stomach. There was my sweet, pure girl on her knees in front of her own father. I watched her begging as the big man in front of her unzipped his pants.
"Daddy, please. He'll be here soon."
He grabbed hold of her hair, and after that, I could not watch. I got back in the car and drove away. After a few miles, I had to stop the car and pull over to collect myself.
I went into full on freak-out. I banged on the steering wheel, yelled and screamed. The one bastion of purity in my life was nothing but a disgusting cocksucker. She played innocent, but behind closed doo
rs, she was worse than the others were.
She was actually begging for it. My faith in the female of the species died at that very moment. Watching the girl that I had thought was going to be my sweet wife taking advantage of her own father like that, using her feminine wiles to make him do those disgusting things. I leaned out the door of the car and threw up right there in the street.
The next day at school, she tried to talk to me, but I wanted no part of it. She approached me with a sad little look on her face, asking why I had not showed the night before. I could not do anything but glare at her and walk away. She played as if she was confused, but I knew the truth.
At lunch that day, she tried again. I felt like I was going to snap, I was so disappointed in her. She kept pushing me, and even managed a few crocodile tears. I spit in her face and walked away without saying a word.
Sherilynn was found dead in her room two days later. She had hanged herself in the closet. She left a note saying that she could not take any more of the things that her father was making her do. I knew the truth though. I knew that she liked it. Hell, I knew that she fell to her knees and begged for it. Just a whore, like the rest of them.
Enough about that. It is all in the past now.
Chapter 14
Even though I was a little depressed about my previous failures, there was no way in hell that I was going to give up. I had to succeed, at any cost.
I decided to take some time to ponder my situation. I took a few odd jobs here and there to make some extra money. I spent a lot of time at the public library. I read a lot of books on true crimes and books on law enforcement and forensics. I found out about some of the new developments in sciences that might make it easier to catch somebody like me. It was actually pretty fascinating reading about all of the advances that cops were making. I found out about DNA and fingerprinting, and blood spatter. I started to think that it might be kind of cool to be a cop. That thought passed out of my head as quickly as it had come in. This time was for research, not a career choice.
Prodigal Son Page 4