Survivor

by J. F. Gonzalez

  * * *

  The minute the elevator doors closed, Tim Murray hoped it didn't stop for other hotel guests.

  He glanced at Mabel Schneider out of the corner of his eye as the elevator made its descent. She looked like a harmless old lady, the kind you saw at church picnics or old folks' homes, hobbling along in grocery stores and malls like turtles. Tim didn't know where Rick Shectman found her, didn't even know the old bat had existed until last night when he'd told Tim the plans for abducting the Miller woman. At first Tim couldn't believe that Rick had access to an eighty-one-year-old psychopath like this. How the fuck does he know so many fucking sadists? Rick had explained to Tim that Mabel was an old friend of his father's. "She used to run an S&M dungeon in my father's neighborhood in PL-nnsylvania in the forties," he'd ex- plained.And it was rumored that after she accidentally killed a client she developed a taste for dishing out extreme torture. That it didn't bother her to hurt people. I happened to make her acquaintance by accident ten years ago on a business trip to New York. She had requested a torture video of a child, and when I made the delivery we had a… how shall I say it?… a nice talk." The tone of Rick's voice had chilled Tim, and he quickly accepted the fact that he was to be working with an eighty-one-year-old female version of Animal. He wondered where old fucks like Mabel Schneider came from and then he dismissed the thought. If Animal lived to be eighty-one, he'd probably wind up just like Mabel. An old doddering man who appeared harmless. An old doddering man with a taste for the grotesque and inflicting extreme pain on other human beings.

  Remarkable how the old bat had avoided getting any blood on her. It had been soaked into John Panozzo's clothes. After verifying that he was dead, Tim had quickly trussed up Brad Miller with the duct tape he had brought, slapping a strip over his mouth as well. Then he'd turned his attentions to Lisa, securing her tightly. Mabel had waited calmly by the door, and he had slipped into the room across the hall quickly without being seen. He had given the room a quick inspection, once again amazed at how quickly and precisely everything had gone down. Then he had quickly changed into the clothes he had brought along in the light tan canvas bag he had toted upstairs: brown slacks, brown shoes, and a beige shirt; now he resembled a hotel staffer at first glance. He had placed his own clothes in the bag, then had turned his attention to the large cardboard box he'd brought up with him, unconstructed. He had quickly assembled the box, then gone downstairs to the lobby and snagged a luggage cart. He had placed the box on the cart, then spent a significant amount of time and energy hauling Lisa's trussed-up form to the box. He had injected some morphine into her to keep her unconscious, and once she was limp she was easier to move. He stuffed her into the box, folding her arms over her head, her knees folded against her chest. Then he closed the box, sealing it with duct tape. There were enough holes in the box to provide for ventilation, but that wasn't a major worry either. She wasn't going to be alive for very much longer.

  Tim Murray watched their descent to the lobby on the indicator above the door as the car plummeted downward. They had left Brad trussed up in the room with the door locked, per Rick's instructions. By the time he got himself free, wifey would be meat for Animal.

  As if reading his thoughts, the old woman spoke up. "Rick said I could have an eye."

  "Huh?" Tim looked at her, for the first time noting her watery blue eyes. She looked crazy. Insane.

  "Her eyes," the old lady said, her voice reedy and britde.-'[like to eat eyes. Rick said I can have one

  "Fine by me, lady," Tim said, turning his attention back to the door. He also had to drop this old bat off at a motel on Spring Street, on the outskirts of Vegas. He wasn't looking forward to that.

  "I like eyes the best," the old lady said in a matter-offact tone, as if she were discussing the preparation of apple pie. "I've found that the eyes of children are the best, though. I also like asses. I like to boil the eyes in a broth I make from the blood, but I like to baste the asses in the oven with onions and bacon strips."

  Tim looked at her, feeling a sense of revulsion. "You shittin' me?"

  "Why, no," she said, in a tone of voice that seemed to say Why would / lie?

  You fucking eat people?"

  "When I can," she said, looking indifferent to it. She clutched her purse. "I'd eat this cunt you have in the box if Rick would let me, but he's saving her for that pig you use in those snuff films. I told him I wanted the eyes, though. I like eyes." "

  "Shit!" Tim shook his head in disgust. And he thought Animal was a sick motherfucker.

  *Of course, if her pussy's still intact when Animal is finished with her, maybe he'll let me have that. I do like the taste of pussy."

  "Here we are" Tim announced as the elevator car stopped. Listening to this old fuck talking about eating pussy in the literal sense was making him sick. The doors opened to the lobby, where a crowd of tourists was waiting to get on the elevator. Tim mustered a smile and waited for Mabel to get off, then pushed the cart off. "Car's in the parking garage," he said, staying abreast of Mabel as he maneuvered the cart down the lobby toward the exit that led to the garage."Tird level."

  °Fne," Mabel said, walking briskly for a woman her age.

  As they made their way to the parking garage and threaded their way past tourists, Tim couldn't help but glance at the old woman, whom he kept in front of him. Where the hell did Rick Shectman find these freaks? It was bad enough there were weirdos out there who got their jollies by watching films of people getting raped and sliced up, but to think that there were old people who were just as sick as Animal was something Tim couldn't comprehend. What was wrong with these people? Why did they enjoy doing this shit? Tim didn't understand it; the only reason he was involved in this shitty business was that the money was pretty good and he always got free blowjobs from the whores they used in films. His mind went back to the night he'd gotten rid of Al's body at the scrap yard, and how Animal had had one more go at him, raping the lifeless body, using the neck stump as a sexual orifice. He'd seen Animal use all kinds of things as a sexual orifice-gaping knife wounds he'd made in abdomens, empty eye sockets gushing blood and optic fluid, you name it. Until the last snuff job with the baby, though, he'd never known Animal to eat anybody. That was just too fucking gross.

  Tim Murray kept his eyes peeled for anything resembling cops or security people as they approached the SUV The coast appeared clear-it was obvious they weren't looking for a guy escorting his grandmother! He motioned to Mabel Schneider. "White SW's mine." Mabel acknowledged him with a nod as they approached the vehicle, and Tim disarmed it with the remote, getting the side door open quickly. Mabel waited calmly, clutching her purse demurely in her hands while Tim hauled the box into the van. When it was secure, he closed the door and pushed the cart aside. Mabel opened the driver's-side door and climbed in while Tim slid into the driver's seat and started the van.

  They drove away from the Luxor, heading to the outskirts of Las Vegas.

  Twenty-seven

  There was a loud humming in his ears.

  That was the first thing Brad Miller was aware of when he became conscious of his surroundings.

  He opened his eyes. His vision was blurred and he blinked, trying to focus. He became aware that he was tied up, that the skin of his arms was itching, and when he opened his eyes again his vision focused. And what he saw was red.

  The cream-colored carpet of their room was deep red.

  The smell hit him next, along with the electrifying sense of numbness that was still echoing through his limbs, making his skin ultrasensitive. His mouth was dry and he felt a metallic taste in the back of his throat. He struggled, and that was when he realized he was tied up with duct tape.

  He opened his mouth to scream, but he couldn't; his mouth was taped shut too.

  Brad rolled around on the floor frantically, his adrenaline pumping. The sight of the lifeless body of John Panozzo, his pale flesh looking like the underbelly of a dead fish, sent him into a frenzy. He struggled against
his bonds, and when his thrashing caused him to lose his balance and fall on the floor, his cheek landing in the wet carpet, he went ballistic. He jerked up, rising to his knees, and managed to hobble to the side of the bed. There were blood spatters on the bed and the wall over the headboard, and his heart leaped in his chest. The rumpled bedsheets told him what he feared.

  They've got Lisa, oh my God, they've fucking got Lisa!

  One quick look around the room brought it all back, told him everything he needed to know. They had been outsmarted. Billy had instructed his security team to look for Tim Murray and that Animal guy, probably Al Pressman as well. They hadn't expected a crazed old woman.

  How the fuck did they find us? How the hell did they know we were here?

  While he tried to backtrack how their security could have been compromised, Brad hauled himself up on the bed and rolled across it to the other side where the phone was resting on the nightstand. He tried to wriggle his arms out of his bonds but could only manage to move them a quarter of an inch from his body. He wasn't going anywhere. In a desperate lunge, he fell toward the phone and managed to get his face next to it. Then he knocked the receiver off the cradle and felt elated when he heard an open dial tone. Thank God thank God. Thank God.

  Now if he could only dial the operator.

  Brad stared at the keypad for a moment, the dial tone echoing in the room. Then he reached out and moved his face over the buttons. He moved his nose over the 0 and felt his stomach roll as he pushed it, hoping he was pushing the right button. Hoping and praying that this would work.

  And then the hotel operator came on and Brad felt such a rush of relief at the sound of her voice that he almost sobbed. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious, but he knew that every second counted.

  He did the only thing he could do. He grunted through his duct-taped gag.

  The operator's voice was clear and questioning. "Can I help you?"

  Brad screamed through the gag; his voice, though muffled, sounded panicked to his ears. He hoped he was loud enough to convey this over the phone.

  "Is there anybody there?"

  "MMMMmmmmmmm!"

  A short pause. Muffled conversation in the back- ground.'ihen: "Do you need help?"

  MMMMmmmmmmm!"

  "I'm sending hotel security up," the operator said, all business now. 'Ibey're on their way."

  And with that, Brad Miller collapsed on the bed and sobbed in relief and fear, hoping against all odds that time was on his side.

  They had been on the road for only ten minutes before Mabel Schneider started getting on rim's nerves. Her presence was irritating; she smelled of dusty mothballs, sour sweat, and bad breath. Did this old bat ever take a bath?

  "Have you ever eaten pussy?" Mabel asked him innocently. She had put on a pair of glasses and was looking out the passenger-side window, looking very much like a grandmother.

  "Lots of times," Tim answered, reaching into his breast pocket for his cellular, not even thinking about what she meant. Then it hit him, and he shook his head. "No" he said, trying not to sound too grossed-out.

  'Raw pussy can be quite good," the old lady said. "All of a lady's parts are good. So are all of a man's parts. You know, the testes… the nuts."

  "Um-hm' Tim said, dialing Rick Shectman's number by memory. Listening to this old bat was driving him crazy.

  "Testes are nice. They have a nice crunch to them. Especially if they're deep-fried. I like to batter them in flour and seasonings and and fry them in a vegetable oil-"

  "You know, I don't want to listen to your culinary tastes right now," Tim said as the line on the other end began to ring. Come on, pick up, you fuck.

  The old woman looked at him, realization dawning on her face. "Oh, don't wont', young man. I have no interest in you. I like my men young. The best age for nice crunchy man-balls is boys that are teenagers. You know, boys in their sexual prime, when their balls are full of spunk. Eighteen-year-olds are the best!"

  "So are eighteen-year-old girls,"Tim said automatically, trying to be funny.

  "I agree. Eighteen-year-old pussy is tender and sweet.'

  Rick Shectman answered the phone, and Tim Murray got his reprieve. "Yeah?"

  "Are you shittin' me that you told this old bitch that she could watch?" Now Tim was letting his anger out and he couldn't help it. He had been looking forward to dumping the old crone off at her hotel when she insisted on coming along to the shoot, informing him that Rick had told her she could watch.

  "I get the eyes!" Mabel chimed in.

  "Shut up!" Tim barked.

  Rick laughed. "I see that you've made Mabel Schneider's acquaintance," Rick said, chuckling. "Very good. She's good at what she does, yes?"

  "You won't get any argument from me about that," Tim said. 'This old bitch killed both those guys in less than two minutes."

  Rick sounded pleased. "I knew she would work out. Nobody was expecting her."

  "Where the fuck did you find this old cunt?'

  "It's a long story, and I already told you the short version yesterday," Rick said. He sounded bored. And I don't have the time to go into great detail of how dear, sweet Mabel Schneider came to my acquaintance."

  "1 know she flew out from the East Coast, so what's her story? She know the outfit in New York or what?"

  "You've just answered your question," Rick said.

  "She's tied in to the scene in NewYork, then?"

  In a way, yes" Rick murmured. "She was around when the scene in New York was fucking invented." Beat. "Listen, I gotta go. Why don't you let Mabel Schneider illuminate you to her sordid history. Let her watch Animal work, and when he's done she can have an eyeball if Animal hasn't completely fucked any up. Make sure she eats it there, though. We can't risk her boarding a plane with body parts." "

  Tim felt his stomach flop in his belly. "So she wasn't shittin' me, then? She really gets off on eatin' people's eyeballs and shit?"

  *1 do like shit," Mabel said matter-of-factly. "1 like fresh shit out of a nice tight asshole."

  "Shut the luck up!" Tim barked at her.

  Rich Shectman laughed. "Oh, you crack me up, Tim. You act as if the grotesque acts you've participated in the past five years are morally repugnant to you now"

  "Animal doesn't eat people's shit!" Tim yelled into the phone.

  "No, he doesn't," Rich Shectman said. "You telling me that you'd rather watch Animal skull-fuck some bitch to death or side-fuck 'em rather than eat the shit out of her ass?"

  Tim didn't know how to answer to that. The question pissed him off. "Forget it. Okay, so I take this wrinkled-up old Miss Hannibal Lector fuck with me. Then what?"

  "When she's finished, take her back to her room to get some sleep. Old people need their sleep, you know. Animal has his own transportation. Put Mabel on her flight tomorrow morning at 8:30 A.M. sharp. She leaves on US Air into Philadelphia, flight 135. Your own flight leaves two hours later into LAX. I'll meet you back here at my office for the transfer of the product."

  "You'll have my money for me then?" Tim had gotten Rick to advance him twenty-five grand for the next job, which was already lined up. What he didn't know was that Tim already had his bags packed at home and was leaving for parts unknown that afternoon as part of Phase One of his plan to blow the whistle on Rick and the whole scene.

  "I'll have your money, you greedy fuck. Just make sure you have the tape. You fuck this one up, your ass is mine." He chuckled. "I might even feed you to Mabel Schneider."

  Mabel cocked a look of revulsion at Tim. "I heard that. You don't look like you'd be very good. You'd be too fat and buttery-tasting."

  "Fuck you!" Tim barked at her.

  Rick Shectman laughed and hung up.

  Tim Murray jabbed the oFF button on the cellular, and when he braked for a red light he replaced the phone in his breast pocket. Mabel Schneider was grinning. She looked excited. "It's been a long time since I've seen anybody get done live."

  "You've done plenty yourself, right
?"

  "Oh yes. Of course!

  Tim didn't want to talk to this old crone. Not realty. But he was dying of curiosity and he couldn't help himself. "How many people have you done?"

  "I don't know," she said, looking out the window as they drove through the city to the outskirts. "Thirty maybe. I stopped keeping count around then, so it's probably been more like sixty."

  "You've killed sixty fucking people?" Tim would have found it hard to believe that this old woman killed the two people at the Luxor this morning if he hadn't seen her results, let alone sixty. Still, Rick Shectman wouldn't have sent her if there wasn't some verifiable truth to her claims. "How long you been killing people? Howd you meet Rick?"

  "I've known Rick for ten years," Mabel said, not looking at him. Tim stole a quick glance at her. No wonder she fooled a lot of people. She really did remind him of a grandmother-the kind that baked pies and knitted blankets and kept all the pictures of her grandchildren in nice little frames perched on a shelf in her living room.

  "You in the New York scene, then? It's true what Rick said?"

  Mabel Schneider turned to look at him, and now she bore a different expression. Now she was all business. All trace of the meek little old lady were gone. "I was first introduced to the pleasures of pain from my father, back in the 1920s. He used to whip me and my brothers. I grew to like it. He was a Catholic, and he felt guilty every time he beat us, so he would get us to punish him for his sins. My brothers and sisters, they were too scared to do it. I wasn't, though. I grew to like whipping my father. We had a… relationship." She smiled. Tim got the message and nodded. "By the time I was twenty, I was working a dungeon in Philadelphia. 'chat's where I met my first husband. We went into business together and did very well. He… he misused me too much and I left him in '43. 1 had saved up some money, though, and met my second husband a year later. We married, and that's when he tried to force domestic life on me!