All The Dead Girls

by Tim Kizer

  He was loving this.

  Osiris glanced at Harry and his partner every few seconds, tracking their movements. Charlie was wearing a baseball cap with the bill pulled down. He’d taken his advice. Osiris liked it when people followed good advice.

  They stopped in front of one of the murals adorning the walls of the terminal and admired it for a while so Harry and Charlie could get to the exit before they did.

  3

  When they entered the terminal, Eric said, “Go get a cab. I’ll check the parking lot for the van.”

  “Okay,” Ralph replied.

  Eric picked up his pace.

  The farthest corner of the parking lot was about one hundred and fifty yards from the terminal, so it should take him no more than four minutes to check the lot. He was going to call the police if the killer’s partner’s van was there. There were probably a few police cars patrolling the area; there might be a police car outside the terminal.

  Eric walked outside and headed to the parking lot. He refrained from running so as not to draw attention to himself. A dozen taxis were parked at the curb in front of the terminal. No police cruisers.

  Maybe he should stay and wait until the cops arrived? Could Holly and Ralph handle the killer without him? Ralph had the same spy camera as Eric, so he would be able to film the attack.

  There were few vehicles in the lot, and one of them was a white van, which was parked at the far end, facing a seven-story garage on Loyola Avenue. Eric’s heart began to pound.

  He texted Ralph: “I want to wait until the cops come. Can you handle him without me?”

  He received Ralph’s reply when he was fifty feet from the van: “Is the van there?”

  The van had Texas plates and looked like the one he had seen in Baton Rouge.

  Was it the killer’s partner’s van?

  Eric messaged Ralph: “Yes.”

  He took a picture of the van and its license plate with his phone and then pocketed it. He wished he’d brought a knife so he could slash the van’s tires.

  The cab was empty.

  Eric walked to the passenger door and peered inside. A black curtain separated the cab from the back of the van.

  Had the driver left, or was he in the back of the van?

  Was Veronica in the van?

  It was useless to call out to her because she was probably drugged and couldn’t talk or move. Besides, the killer’s partner might be in there.

  Suddenly the curtain parted and a blond woman got into the passenger seat. She opened the door, grabbed Eric by the T-shirt, pulled him closer, and hit him in the neck with her fist. Eric felt the prick of a needle in his neck; the woman had injected him with something.

  “How are you doing?” she asked.

  A chill swept through Eric when he realized that it was a man.

  He’s the killer’s partner.

  Chapter 30

  1

  Castor had watched the guy in the side-view mirror and when he saw that his T-shirt had a picture of Bob Marley on it, he had realized it was Charlie, Harry’s partner (Osiris had sent him Charlie’s photo an hour and a half earlier).

  What was he doing here?

  Why had he taken a picture of the van?

  Charlie was snooping around. His intentions were not friendly.

  After injecting him with a sedative, Castor pulled Charlie into the van and laid him facedown on the floor, next to Lucia. He tied the man’s hands behind his back, then his feet, and duct-taped his mouth.

  Why the hell was Harry’s partner snooping around my van?

  Castor took out Charlie’s wallet and cellphone and looked at his driver’s license. Harry’s partner’s real name was Eric McCormick.

  Was he an undercover cop?

  Castor pulled out of the parking lot onto Loyola Avenue, crossed Earhart Boulevard, and turned left onto Calliope Street. He checked Eric’s text messages as he drove, and he was alarmed by what he read.

  He parked on Rampart Street in front of a church and reread the messages McCormick had exchanged with Chris, Ralph, and Holly.

  It was some kind of conspiracy. These motherfuckers were after Osiris.

  2

  As he and Holly neared the exit, Osiris, also known as Nick Hayden, messaged Harry: “Did you get a cab?”

  Harry replied: “Yes.”

  When they walked outside, Osiris saw Harry standing beside a cab parked in front of the terminal. The backseat and the front passenger seat of the car were empty. Where was Charlie? Was he in the restroom taking a shit?

  “Where’s Charlie?” Osiris asked.

  “He’s not feeling well,” Harry said. “He’ll wait at the terminal.”

  Osiris and Holly got in the back and Harry in the front passenger seat.

  Was Charlie really feeling sick or was it a ruse?

  As they approached the bridge over the Mississippi River, Osiris received a message from Castor: “Harry’s partner was snooping around my van. I got him. Do you recognize this number?”

  The number Castor asked about had a 972 area code and Osiris recognized it: it belonged to Harry.

  He replied to Castor: “Yes. It’s Harry’s number. What’s the guy’s real name?”

  “Eric McCormick. Lives in Frisco. Harry’s real name is Ralph.”

  “Is he talking?”

  How did Harry and Charlie, or rather Ralph and Eric, know about Castor’s van? Why had Eric been snooping around it? How did they know about Castor?

  What the hell was going on?

  Castor replied: “No. Still asleep. Btw Holly’s in on it with them.”

  Holly was in on it?

  This bitch was working with Ralph and Eric?

  It was clear these motherfuckers were trying to trick him, but what was their objective? His intuition told him they wanted to harm him, possibly kill him.

  Castor sent another message: “They’re after you. Be careful.”

  Osiris texted back: “Don’t kill him. I’d like to question him. When will you get to the woods?”

  “6-7 mins.”

  This whole thing was a goddamn hoax.

  And I bought it. I fucking bought it!

  Osiris was royally pissed off, but his expression remained flat: he was a master at concealing his emotions.

  The cab pulled over and the driver said, “Nineteen fifty.”

  Ralph handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

  “Thank you.”

  Osiris opened the door and climbed out of the cab.

  They were on a quiet street lined with modest houses, about two hundred yards from the woods.

  Osiris set his bag down, unzipped it, and reached inside. He felt for his skinning knife, found it, and slipped it into the right pocket of the sweat jacket (Holly and Ralph were not going to see the knife because it was only eight inches long and fit into the pocket). Then he pulled out the sweat jacket and put it on.

  It must have been one of them who had rummaged through his bag on the bus, so they knew he had a knife.

  But they didn’t know about his little friend.

  “Where’s Beyoncé’s house?” Holly asked.

  They were still keeping up the charade. They had no idea he was on to them.

  Is Holly her real name?

  “Two blocks from here,” Ralph said.

  Osiris consulted the map on his phone and pointed to the intersection fifty feet away. “This way.”

  What was their plan? What was their objective?

  If they wanted to kill him, why hadn’t they wasted him in Baton Rouge?

  Did somebody send them?

  “Sandra Bullock has a house in New Orleans, too,” Osiris said as they turned the corner onto Kansas Street.

  “I love Sandra Bullock,” Holly said.

  Why did Ralph pretend to be a serial killer? Was he a serial killer?

  Where had Ralph gotten those pictures?

  He might have found them on the Internet.

  “I wonder if Beyonc�
�’s in New Orleans now,” Ralph said.

  “I would love to meet her,” Holly said.

  Ralph pretended to be a serial killer to gain my trust. He figured serial killers trusted serial killers.

  How did they know he was a serial killer?

  “She might pull up to her house while we’re there,” Osiris said. “She might even talk to us.”

  “That would be awesome!”

  When they reached the woods, Osiris received a text from Ralph: “When do u want to do it?”

  Osiris replied: “Soon. I’ll give u a signal. Can u get the ball rolling?”

  “OK.”

  It had been four minutes since Castor’s last message. He must have already crossed the bridge.

  There were lights in some of the tract houses across the street from the woods. The crickets sang tirelessly in the grass. The air felt cleaner and fresher, or maybe it was his imagination. The full moon shone brightly in the cloudless sky.

  Osiris said, “Have you ever been in New Orleans during Mardi Gras?”

  Did Ralph have a gun in his bag?

  “No,” Holly replied.

  Did they know Castor had captured Eric?

  “I have,” Ralph said.

  “Is it really fun?” Osiris asked.

  “Oh yeah, loads of fun.”

  What was he going to do?

  I’ll kill the guy and take the girl.

  “Do women really flash their breasts for beads?” Osiris asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Castor should now be very close.

  Osiris glanced back. The street was empty. Castor might take a different route so Ralph and Holly wouldn’t see him coming.

  He must admit Holly was a good actress. She had delivered a great performance today. Brava, Holly!

  “Holly, have you ever been to a Beyoncé concert?” Osiris asked.

  “Yes, two years ago.”

  “I bet the tickets were expensive.”

  “They weren’t cheap.”

  How had they known he was going to be on that bus? He had told no one about the trip. Had they followed him?

  “Are you a Beyoncé fan, Harry?” Osiris said.

  “I like some of her songs.”

  Should they leave Ralph’s body here or take it with them?

  We’ll take his body with us and dump it in a ditch outside New Orleans.

  Were any other bus passengers part of the conspiracy?

  “That song about single ladies, is it hers?” Osiris said.

  “Yes,” Holly said.

  They reached the L junction at the end of the street. Beyond it was a ditch that ran for miles from northwest to southeast. There was another wooded area about fifty yards away, on the other side of the ditch.

  “This way.” Osiris pointed along the edge of the woods.

  “Are we lost?” Holly asked.

  “No. We’re taking a shortcut.”

  Obviously they wanted him to attack Holly. Why?

  Ralph was not going to let him kill her. What would Ralph do when he tried to stab the girl? Shoot him?

  Why didn’t they kill me in Baton Rouge?

  Osiris slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. The end of the charade was near.

  When they were about two hundred feet from the junction, Osiris stopped, dropped his bag, and said to Ralph, “Now.”

  “What?”

  Osiris put his hands in his pockets, gripped the skinning knife. “Get the ball rolling, Harry.”

  He would pick up Ralph’s satchel when he dropped it on the ground.

  Ralph grabbed Holly, pressed her against a tree, and covered her mouth with his hand. She didn’t try to resist; her expression of fear was convincing.

  “If you scream, I’ll cut you open,” he told the girl, whose eyes were fixed on Osiris.

  Ralph reached into his bag and brought out a roll of duct tape. “Nick, can you tape her mouth?”

  “Sure.”

  Osiris took the roll, tore off a piece of duct tape, and put it over Holly’s mouth.

  He could kill Ralph right then and there, but he wanted to have a little fun with him.

  Osiris gave the roll back to Ralph, stepped back, and stuck his hands in his pockets again. Ralph stuffed the roll into his bag and took out a long kitchen knife.

  “Here you are, man.” He held the knife out to Osiris.

  They must have been thrilled that they had fooled him. They must have thought they were brilliant masterminds, they must have been mentally high-fiving each other.

  Losers.

  They would be shocked to the core when they realized that he had discovered their little secret. The looks on their faces would be priceless.

  “Why don't you make the first cut, Harry?” Osiris said.

  “What?”

  “Slit her throat.”

  “She’s yours, Nick. I want you to have fun with her.”

  “I’m giving her to you. Slit her throat, Harry.” Osiris had to struggle to keep a straight face.

  What’s this bozo going to do?

  Ralph switched the knife to his left hand, ripped the tape off Holly’s mouth with his right, then pulled a pistol from his bag and pointed it at Osiris.

  Chapter 31

  1

  What a fun adventure!

  And they say America is boring.

  “Harry, what are you doing?” Osiris asked.

  He recognized the make and model of Ralph’s pistol: SIG Sauer P320 (he knew a lot about guns and he was a great shot, too).

  “Step back,” Ralph told him.

  “What’s going on, man?”

  “Step back.”

  Osiris took three steps back and said, “Did I do something wrong? What’s going on, Harry?”

  “Holly, stand over there.” Ralph pointed along the edge of the woods in the direction of the junction.

  Holly walked about twenty feet away from Ralph and stopped. “Here?”

  “Yes.”

  Ralph threw the knife on the ground between him and Osiris, pulled out his phone, and held it up. “I want you to pick up the knife and chase after Holly.”

  Ralph was going to shoot him as he pursued Holly. The sonofabitch would film the chase to prove he was trying to kill her.

  “Why do you want me to do that? I thought we were friends, Harry.”

  Did they want to kill him because he was a serial murderer? Were they a team of vigilantes fighting serial murderers?

  “Do you remember Maggie Culver?” Holly asked. “You killed her last April.”

  Maggie Culver.

  Yes, he remembered Maggie. Cute, nice tits, nice ass. He had enjoyed choking the life out of her.

  “Are you in on this, Holly?” Osiris asked.

  “Do you remember Maggie?”

  “You’ve mistaken me for someone else, Holly. I've never killed anyone.” Osiris looked from Holly to Harry. “I lied to you, man. I’m not a serial killer.”

  “We’re her friends. You thought you got away with her murder, but you were wrong, motherfucker.”

  “I didn’t kill your friend.”

  Ralph said, “Pick up the knife and chase after Holly.”

  Osiris sighed. “Okay. But what about the fingerprints?”

  “What fingerprints?”

  “You left your fingerprints on—”

  Instead of finishing the sentence, Osiris threw his skinning knife at Ralph, aiming for his chest, jumped aside, bent down (Ralph hadn’t fired his weapon yet, which was a good sign), pulled up the left leg of his jeans, and drew his gun, a Kel-Tec P-32, from his ankle holster. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use his pistol: a gunshot might attract some of the local residents and he might have to kill them.

  Ralph’s gun fell to the ground, and Osiris rushed toward it and grabbed it. As he straightened up, Ralph collapsed, the knife stuck in his chest. He was still alive, but Osiris knew he would die within minutes.

  Holly was gone. Osiris looked
toward the junction and saw the girl running toward it. He placed both guns in his duffel bag, picked up Ralph’s cell, then pulled the knife out and plunged it into Ralph’s throat (just in case the guy was one of those rare people who could move around with a knife wound in their chests). Ralph emitted a croaking sound, and blood began oozing from the wound (Osiris had avoided severing the jugular veins and carotid arteries to minimize bleeding). Osiris wiped the knife on Ralph’s T-shirt and pocketed it.

  Holly reached the junction as Osiris took out Ralph’s wallet. He patted Ralph’s pockets for his other phone (the one he had pretended to lose on the bus). It wasn’t there. Osiris searched Ralph’s bag and found the cell.

  He put Ralph’s wallet and phone in the satchel, picked up both bags, and started after Holly.

  Would she bang on doors, screaming for help? Would anyone let her in?

  Someone might let her in. There are still a lot of good people out there.

  She might have already called the cops. The average police response time for emergency calls was eleven minutes. He and Castor didn’t have time to search the neighborhood.

  Where’s Castor? Maybe he caught her.

  When Osiris reached the junction, he saw a white panel van parked on Kansas Street facing him about a hundred feet away. Holly was nowhere in sight. It was quiet. No screams for help, no banging on doors.

  The van’s headlights came on, and the driver stuck his hand out of the window and waved to Osiris.

  It was Castor.

  As he walked up to the van, Osiris asked, “Have you seen the girl?”

  “No. Did she run away?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where’s Ralph?”

  “Dead.”

  He would get the bitch later. Mr. McCormick would tell him her name and address.

  Osiris switched Ralph’s satchel to his left hand. “I’ll drive.”

  Castor had been driving for twelve hours and needed rest.

  “Okay.”

  Castor moved to the passenger seat, and then Osiris climbed behind the wheel.

  Chapter 32

  1

  Chris Falcone was home watching Die Hard 2 when his phone beeped. It was a text message from Eric McCormick: “Can you find out who called or texted this number between 9:00 and 10:30 p.m.? Can you get their location? Can you get the text messages? Thanks.”