All The Dead Girls

by Tim Kizer

  The guilt had dissipated: your lack of infatuation for Kelly was now justified by her promiscuity. You’d had to reduce the frequency of sex with Kelly for fear of catching some sexually transmitted disease from her. Thankfully, she didn’t complain.

  So you followed Kelly's car. You soon guessed she was heading for Josephine's house.

  “You are quite entertaining, Mister Bluth,” said Frank. “That's the only reason I’m talking to you.”

  You parked two hundred feet away from Josephine's house and began waiting. You had a hunch that Kelly was not going to stay at Josephine's for very long, that, like before, they would head out of town for another adventure. You thought they would get on a train and you were prepared for this. You were sure they would take a train, but half an hour later you discovered that they had developed a new tactic. All four of them went to Rochester that time, right?

  “I’m entertaining? Are you serious? You love joking, Frank, I see. But it's not time for jokes, okay?” Bluth snickered. “Be a man, Frank. Stop this bullshit. Both of us know that what I'm saying is true, and if you don't want to go to jail, you’ll have to pay twenty thousand dollars. Just a lousy twenty grand, bro. There’s no way around it.”

  All four of them—Kelly, Ron, Graham, and Josephine. They emerged from the front doors, and Frank braced himself as he started the engine and put his foot on the brake pedal. The foursome got in the dark blue Chevrolet Tahoe parked by the curb in front of the house; seconds later they were rolling down the street. Frank went after them, wondering where the hell Kelly’s lover was. Was the lover waiting for them at the train station?

  No, the lover wasn’t waiting for them at the station. He was meeting them in Rochester.

  “Frank, you are making a big mistake,” Bluth said, alarmed by Frank's silence. “I really want to help you, bro; otherwise why would I be talking to you? You killed your wife, I know that. We need each other. I’m only asking for twenty grand; your car costs three times as much. Don’t you think your freedom is worth at least twenty grand?”

  “I wonder when you’re going to get tired of this nonsense,” Frank said. “You amuse me, Mister Bluth.”

  Ron accompanied Kelly everywhere; he protected her from rapists and muggers. Josephine chauffeured Kelly and her lover around, allowed them to have sex in her house.

  Are you sure about it, buddy? You are not mixing things up, are you?

  Ron and Josephine were perverts. They had probably watched Kelly fuck her lovers when she had brought them in their house. Yes, they were perverts all right.

  “If I amuse you, then pay me for it,” Bluth grinned. “You killed your wife, I know you killed her, so I believe we should come to an agreement of some sort.”

  “What is your real name? It’s certainly not Bluth, right?”

  What happened next, Frank? They left for Rochester; they were going to pick up Kelly’s lover and get back to Buffalo. What if they went there just to see sights? What if there was no lover waiting for them in Rochester?

  By the way, he was wrong: Josephine hadn’t gone to Rochester with the others. She had stayed at home that night.

  “What is my name? Will you pay if I tell you my name?”

  Josephine had walked Ron, Graham, and Kelly to the car, waved them goodbye, and returned inside the house. She hadn’t gotten in the Tahoe.

  It's a pretty insignificant detail, Frank. Remember what happened next. Did Kelly meet with her lover?

  “I am not going to pay you, Bluth,” said Frank. “First, I'm not a millionaire. And second, I did not kill my wife.”

  Chapter 13.

  AVENGERS

  1.

  “But you love freedom?” asked Jerry Cleveland. “You don't want to go to jail, do you?”

  Frank was silent. Five seconds had passed, and he still did not say a word. Josephine began watching the long hand of her watch tick away the seconds. It crossed her mind that the blackmail idea, which was intended to get Frank to incriminate himself in the murder of Kelly, was not going to work after all.

  She, Albert, and Ron were inside an eight seat Chevrolet Express van parked three hundred feet away from Frank’s house, and it was their last attempt at making use of Jerry Cleveland, a.k.a. Michael Bluth, whom they had hired to play the part of the blackmailer.

  Jerry had gotten a sweet gig, for your information. The total pay for his interactions with Frank was going to be two thousand dollars.

  Nine seconds. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

  “He's not answering,” Josephine commented. “Is he scared or what?”

  “He didn't look scared yesterday,” Ron remarked from the backseat. “I saw him through the binoculars. He seemed calm.”

  “He could have been pretending,” said Albert. “Is this thing even on?” He bent over the radio receiver/transmitter set that sat next to him in the mid row of the van. He reached for volume dial, but Josephine quickly gestured for him not to touch it.

  “Yes, it’s on,” she said.

  Albert straightened up, took a deep puff of the cigarette, and blew a stream of smoke towards the steering wheel. “I hope the microphone didn’t fall out of Jerry’s ear. That thing is so damn tiny.”

  “This asshole can act,” said Ron. “Or maybe he really has nothing to do with it.”

  “Why the hell is he not answering?” Josephine irritatedly shook the ash off her cigarette into the ash-tray. “I wonder if he just up and left.”

  “Frank, I’m waiting,” said Jerry. “I know you don’t want to go to jail for murder.”

  “‘I'm not a millionaire’... What the hell is that?” Albert took another puff. “It’s only twenty grand.”

  “Don’t talk too loud, Al. I’m trying to listen here,” said Josephine. “You can go take a walk around the block if you’re bored.”

  “Take a walk?” Albert wrinkled his forehead, leaned back and folded his arms on his chest. “Looks like Frank doesn't want to talk anyway.”

  Josephine pressed the button on the radio set and said into microphone, “Jerry, tell him once more that he killed Kelly and that you saw him transport the body.”

  Half a minute later Jerry carried out her order.

  “Why the hell is he silent?” Josephine said when it had become clear that Frank was not going to respond to Jerry. “Do you think he’s scared?”

  Albert smirked and shook his head.

  “Why would this son of a bitch be scared?” he said in an exaggerated whisper. “I don’t think anyone would be scared of this Jerry guy.”

  Josephine nodded slightly.

  “I'm a little bored now; that's the only reason I'm talking to you,” finally said Frank. “You have an interesting sense of humor, Michael Bluth.”

  “Same old crap,” commented Josephine. “When is he going to confess? Jerry, repeat once again that he killed Kelly.”

  “I think he put her body in the trunk,” said Ron. He flicked the cigarette butt out of the half-open window and lit another cigarette. “Or maybe he never took it out of the house. He could have dissolved it in the acid.”

  “It’s possible,” Josephine agreed. “We may have to use a different strategy.”

  “Frank, you got rid of your wife, you have your freedom back, you are happy. Why don’t you pay me the twenty grand just to celebrate it? It’s a perfect occasion to share your happiness with other people,” Jerry went on. “Twenty grand is a low price for freedom, Frank.”

  “He definitely put her in the trunk,” said Albert. “It’s too risky to have a dead body in the back seat or on the floor, where everyone can see it.”

  “Yes, we'll have to take a different route,” Ron said. “Josephine, I think it’s time to wrap this up. Looks like Frank has figured Jerry out.”

  “Let’s wait a few more minutes,” said Josephine. “Maybe he’s confused and doesn’t know what to say.”

  “Frank, I’m trying to help you here,” Jerry said. “You killed your wife, and that’s okay, I understand you.”

&n
bsp; “I think we can rule the acid out,” went on Josephine. “I’m sure he took the body out of the house. He must have buried it somewhere.”

  “If you want to go to the police, be my guest,” Frank responded at last. “I don't care what you do, Mister Bluth.”

  “He doesn't care.” Josephine exchanged glances with Albert. “He either cracked Jerry or is trying to get the price down.”

  “How much lower can we go? Twenty grand is a bargain for this type of deal,” said Ron. “How much does Frank make in a year? A hundred and fifty? He must have figured Jerry out, that’s what it looks like to me.”

  “Maybe he thinks Jerry’s got no proof against him?” Albert said.

  Ron shrugged his shoulders.

  “I'll cut the price if you want,” said Jerry.

  “That's right, man,” commented Albert. “Jerry read my thoughts.”

  “Let's make it fifteen,” Jerry continued. “Fifteen grand will do.”

  “I don't think Frank’s cheap,” said Ron. “He would pay twenty grand to stay out of jail if he had to.”

  “He's silent,” Josephine said. “Is he still there?”

  “Maybe he’s deciding if he should pay,” said Ron.

  “Or just getting on Jerry’s nerves,” said Albert.

  “Jerry, repeat once again that he killed Kelly,” Josephine instructed.

  “May we should pay Frank a visit and see if he turned pale?” Ron suggested. “What do you think, Josie? Let me go and have a look at his face after they are done talking.”

  “I think this asshole is on to Jerry and is just having fun with him now,” said Albert.

  “Frank could have put the body in the trunk,” said Ron. “Or chopped it up and stuffed the pieces into a suitcase. He could have done all sorts of things with Kelly. We’re just wasting time, Josie. Tell Jerry to wrap it up and leave.”

  “Nobody killed Kelly, Mister Bluth. You're wasting my time,” said Frank.

  “He loves joking, doesn’t he?” Josephine remarked. “I had no idea he was such a comedian. ‘Nobody killed Kelly.’ That’s hilarious.” She smirked.

  “What if we cut the price to ten grand?” said Albert. “Tell Jerry to bring it down to ten.”

  “It's pointless; he figured out that Jerry is bullshitting him,” said Ron. “I'm telling you, guys.”

  “Okay, Frank, how about ten grand?” asked Jerry. “Ten grand, bro. A lousy ten grand for your freedom.”

  2.

  “No, pal, I can't give you the money unless you explain to me why I should do it,” answered Frank.

  Last August.

  What an astonishing discovery: Josephine and Ron are perverts. It's the most sensational news of the year, isn’t it, buddy? A fifty-year-old woman helps her stepsister meet men and watches her having sex with those men in the back of her car. When you married Kelly, you couldn't even have imagined that her family engaged in such kinky stuff, could you? You must have considered Josephine an ordinary woman whose best days were behind. And you didn't notice anything weird about Ron; he seemed to be a smart guy who had made a lot of money in real estate. Let it be a lesson to you, buddy. Don't marry women you have known less than a year.

  So, a quick review: the Utica trip—last August; Kathy's disappearance—last November; the Rochester trip—March of this year.

  Dig deeper, buddy. You finally remembered that Josephine, Ron, and Graham are perverts. Do you recall anything else? Utica, Rochester, and then you killed Kelly, right?

  Frank realized that Bluth had been saying something to him for a while. Without wasting a second, Frank immersed himself back in his thoughts.

  No, Kelly was alive, he knew it for a fact.

  What happened after the Rochester trip? Did you track her down again? Or you decided that spying on Kelly was useless? Or Kathy’s disappearance gave you another bout of depression?

  Ron was Kelly’s bodyguard. Quite amusing. Kelly had had sex with her lovers in Josephine’s house. Very amusing, too.

  Did you find out who her lovers were? You must know who they are; you seem so sure this information will help you find your wife. Who are her lovers? What did you do after Rochester? Why don’t you want to remember that you killed Kelly after the Rochester trip?

  He hadn’t killed anybody. He was incapable of murder. He wouldn’t harm a fly.

  Nevertheless you killed her. You murdered your wife and buried her body somewhere in the forest.

  He was not a murderer. But Kelly was.

  “You said you have proof. Where is it?” Frank decided to give Bluth a piece of his attention.

  “I have proof, bro. It’s in a safe place, okay?”

  You killed your wife, bro. However, you shouldn’t feel remorseful about it: Kelly was a good-for-nothing bitch.

  Kelly was a murderer. And her stepsister was a murderer, too. And Graham, and Ron, and Albert—the whole damn family had blood on their hands.

  Bullshit, bro. You stabbed your wife to death three weeks ago, and that’s okay; now you can discard this memory without any qualms. You did a good job, pal. It was a perfect crime. Pretty soon you’ll be able to end your marriage to Kelly officially.

  Yes, he had made another hole in his amnesia. He had finally remembered what Kelly and her relatives had been doing in Rochester. That trip had nothing to do with her lover. They went there to kidnap and kill.

  “Show it to me, and then we’ll talk, bro.” Frank got up. “It was nice seeing you, Mister Bluth.” He opened the front door and entered the house.

  Yes, that was how it had happened. They had driven to a block of apartment buildings. Kelly got out of the car. She was wearing a wig and fake prescription glasses (they had to be fake because Kelly had a perfect vision). Graham hopped out of the car after her, also in a wig and prescription glasses (probably fake, too). It wasn’t easy to recognize him in his primitive disguise.

  That’s nonsense. You killed your wife, Frank. But don't get nervous, you did the right thing. You are a reasonable person, you always do the right thing.

  It was dark. Well, not completely dark: there were street lamps nearby whose dim light helped him make out the faces of Kelly and Graham when they emerged from the shade. Their car was hidden by the shadow of the five-story building near which it was parked. They had left it there on purpose; they didn't want local residents to notice them and later describe their Tahoe to the police. They were afraid of exposure since what they were going to do was a horrible crime.

  Bullshit, Frank. They are perverts, not killers. They are benignly insane, and all these weird memories in your head are just mental hallucinations.

  They got out of the car and pretty soon disappeared from his sight. Kelly and Graham, both in wigs and glasses. At that moment he didn't suspect what would happen next. He thought they were going to bring Kelly's lover; he considered wigs another piece of evidence of their perversity. They returned half an hour later. Kelly was first; she was accompanied by a man Frank had never seen before. Then Graham showed up with a female stranger by his side. When Frank saw Kelly with the man, he thought that he had been right, that they had come here to pick up her lover. Kelly and her companion took the back seat of the Tahoe. Graham and his lady came ten minutes later. Frank immediately had a hunch that the woman was a prostitute: who else would have gone on a date with a married middle-aged guy that late at night? Graham and the woman got in the back of the car, too, and Frank wondered how the four of them had managed to fit there. Several minutes later, Graham and Kelly got out of the Tahoe, vanished into the darkness again, and then came back... Yes, there was a third stranger, a woman, and it was Kelly who brought her. They took the back seat, which stunned Frank. He had no doubt they sat in the back of the car: he had distinctly discerned the shape of the doors they had opened. It crossed Frank’s mind that they must be sitting in each other's laps.

  Stop tormenting your brain, partner. Relax, enjoy your freedom. You got rid of your perverted wife, you did good.

  When th
e second woman opened the door of the Tahoe, she was in no hurry to get inside. She actually seemed reluctant to do it. Graham had to push her into the car as if she were one of those arrestees he had delivered to the police station. He appeared suddenly, out of nowhere, and Frank was lost in conjectures for a while, trying to figure out what just had happened. It was Graham, for sure. He must have taken a different path on his way back; he must have been hiding behind the bushes, watching his prey, ready to pounce on any poor sap who attempted to run away.

  Graham climbed into the car after the second woman, and the Tahoe took off. Frank made an effort to count how many people had squeezed themselves into the back seat of Kelly’s ride. The total was five. There were five people in the back of that Tahoe! Frank was perplexed. He asked himself why the hell Kelly and Graham had picked up those people. Frank’s mind was brimming with suspicions, doubts, and echoes of fear on his way to Buffalo. He kept picturing Kelly, Graham, and the three strangers coming out of the dark, opening the doors, getting in the car. He kept thinking about Graham shoving the second woman inside the Tahoe. Yes, all five of them were in the back seat. Yes, Graham had pushed that woman; as a matter of fact, his interaction with her had looked very much like a fight, which it probably had been.

  Relax, pal, forget about them. They are nobody to you. They are not your family anymore.

  He thanked God for having prompted him to turn off the headlights and hide behind a multistory building as Kelly and Graham had been about to go on the prowl. He had risked his life back there! He had been as close as two hundred and fifty feet away from the Impala, according to his estimate. He was glad he had night vision binoculars with him; they turned out very handy.

  What was it that made you think they are murderers? They are just a bunch of perverts. They came to Rochester to have an orgy with another group of perverts, end of story.

  No, the people they met were not perverts. That young girl, who couldn’t have been older than eighteen, wasn't a pervert.

  What girl?

  The one they dragged into the car by Genesee Crossroads Park in Rochester. Yes, they kidnapped four people that Friday.