by Kirk Alex
Pearleen fought real hard to keep her own tears from surfacing. Both girls shivered.
“Dreams come true, but you’ve got to have a plan. I just got sucked off by just about the sexiest high yellow bitch I ever saw and had my balls licked by just about the sexiest Mex (quasi) virgin I ever saw. That makes up for lack of experience on your part, Olivia. Thank your lucky stars for that. Only the next time had better be the absolute best. It had better take the top of my skull off. You are going to have to work on her a little, Pearleen. Teach her a few tricks. But that’s for later. We’ll have to get you both cleaned up again, wash the blood and sperm off, the dirt. Get some makeup on you: lots of dark eyeliner; face powder; blush-on for the cheeks; lipstick; blood-red lipstick, that is—same type Charlotte Yvonne was partial to—my mother—who went around retirement homes and sucked off toothless geezers for chump change. Would take me with her because I made for a better cover. No one would suspect a woman with a young child in tow to be a working, hustling, common whore. Attended many a funeral with the nutty bitch for the same reason: was her lookout. She’d be blowing some old fuck’s dick behind a tombstone or hedge, away from the rest of the mourners. Had me dress in black when we went to these different graveyards and would make me pull guard duty like some sentry in front of a tree, grave marker, brush, while she drained these old cocks for ridiculously low rates. Needed money, she said; J.J. had to have his whiskey. Low-class whore had cut-rate blow jobs. What a dumb cunt she was. Two-bit slut. Seeing her get drilled by the jackhammer gave me wood . . . even now when I think about it. . . . I’ll never forget it.”
Marvin was shaking his head. “Told me that part never did happen. Told me that be in yo nightmare. Told me so yo’self the ho got ran over by a bus.”
“It was a truck. It was a yellow panel truck, then a car finished her off.”
“So why you keep bringin’ up the jackhammer, Dawg, if it never did happen?”
“Because that’s where she ended up when she landed: by a street crew, and one of them happened to have a jackhammer that he was drilling into the pavement with. She landed right next to it.”
“I know what it is: med’ be doin’ it. I get the same way when I get one of them crack-attack’.”
“Crack is for the bitches. Crack is the bait; blow, Ex, dust, wicky sticks, ludes—”
“Bait. Heard it before: how we reel the bitches in.”
“How we ‘reeled’ you in, Pearleen.” Biggs was looking at the women. “Anyway, that’s what I like—and wanted to say, before I was interrupted. Get you both into fishnet stockings, get you both looking like the ball-busting, venal whores that you are. Yeah. What does it for me. Get you both into black spike heels. It’ll probably be the first time for the young cunt over there: spikes, but that’s okay. You keep learning how to please me, how to keep me happy and satiated, and you just might last a while.”
CHAPTER 374
He shone a penlight into one of Connie Higgins’s eyes. Not dilated. Tried the other eye. Same thing. Still alive. Just as he thought. That was good.
From the makeup box, he withdrew an X-ACTO knife still in its manufacturer’s plastic sheath.
He slid the knife out. Was about to carve the eyeballs out. Only the eyelids proved quite the hindrance. They’d have to be removed. In back of him, Marvin Muck was wincing.
“Damn, Brotha. You be cuttin’ up some good trim there. Make no kinda sense to me.”
“Who asked you?”
Biggs pinched the left eyelid between thumb and index finger of his left hand and sliced it off with the X-ACTO blade.
The victim made a sound that sounded like a muted scream. Life left in her. This was a good sign. He then did the same to the other eyelid. Marvin Muck was bothered enough that he stepped back out. Slappin’ the shit out of a ho to make her do you, take dick in her mud-hole and pussy was no big deal. Done it before, lots of time’. If you had to rape ’em, you done it: you raped the hoe’, but doin’ this. . . . Cuttin’ they eye’ out made no damn sense to him. An’ there don’t be no way to get Cecil to stop, neither. Asshole had to have them eye’ for that mofo teddy bear. Why he brung it down. Like a ’tard, playin’ wiff teddy bear’.
Biggs turned his head, and found Marvin’s antics nothing more than a cursory distraction. The job at hand required that he remain focused and he was back on it, inserting the knife with the short blade inside the woman’s right eye socket.
In it went, carefully—and he guided it around, in this circular-like motion, cutting out the lower lash and additional skin at the top that once was part of the eyelid, while the woman yelped, and more.
He replaced the knife with a teaspoon. Inserted it at about the bottom of the socket, held his breath, and using his best scooping ability, plucked the eyeball and dropped it into a jar of formaldehyde.
Blood flowed, and the yelp progressed into something like an aborted scream. Too bad, thought Biggs. All out screams called for far more strength than the victim possessed. He stuck a ball of cotton into the hollow socket in her face to prevent further loss of blood, and proceeded to insert the teaspoon into the left eye socket. The woman continued making sounds, more like half-assed shrieks, beseeching to be spared the excruciating agony of it. The other victims had joined in: Olivia Duarte and LaBelle of the Ball. Peaches Baby. This clearly gave Biggs the impetus to go on. You bet. Anything they/society were against, he was for. Had to be. Fuck yes. On the other hand, if ever they appreciated one hundred percent all he was into, what turned him on, made him tick, he would have been at a loss. Almost. It might have meant that they were on HIS side, looked at the world through HIS eyes and attitude: Do Unto Others. . . . Before They Do Unto You.
He gouged the eyeball. Dropped it in the jar with the other one. Glanced at Marvin. Muck had stopped chuckling a long time ago. Wimpy mother. Chickenshit punk. Wannabe procurer.
Sure. No balls, no brains—but would love to be a pimp, have a harem of his own, bitches to rape and control. How could anyone, any man hope to achieve anything that outrageous without having the brass and savvy to pull it off?
CHAPTER 375
He looked at Olivia, Pearleen. Both getting sick again. Vomiting on his floor. Okay. This was the way to control the cunts.
“I have always held the notion: the average male in this otherwise great nation, is pussy-whipped and spineless. The average female in this otherwise incredible nation is overbearing and way the fuck overweight. Can’t dress, can’t even make a decent grilled cheese sandwich; won’t fuck or even knows how to suck. Like I said before: Just about useless. Only thing they’re good at is bitching, night and day—and blame everything on the sissified male.” He was forced to pause long enough to wipe the blood that slid down from the eyeless victim’s socket with a wad of cotton. “That’s why it gives me such a thrill to torture bitches—and make you suffer, make you pay. . . . The icing on the cake is in knowing I’m the last thing you see before you croak. . . .”
CHAPTER 376
He returned the X-ACTO to its plastic sheath. Had Marvin hand the teddy bear to him. Biggs went about attempting to insert one of the eyeballs into the stuffed animal’s left eye socket. Wouldn’t go. Greased the rim with Vaseline. Was able to make the eyeball go in this time. Did the same with the other eye. Placed the teddy bear up there in the center of the eyeless human skulls. Trophies. Thanks to his stepfather. J.J. He’d taught him the eyeball trick using the X-ACTO.
The teacher on the hook no longer made much noise at this point. Passed out? Seemed that way. At least she remained among the living, although barely at that. Inch away from expiring.
He was busy reapplying the makeup. Replaced the soggy cotton balls with fresh ones to keep more blood from seeping out. Well, he succeeded for the most part, although could not stop the blood from entirely appearing and flowing down her face. You did what you could.
Bitch’s head was hung down. Still.
He held her wrists. Felt the pulse. Weak, but the ticker still beati
ng. Some constitution. He stepped back. Pulled the goggles down over his eyes. Turned on the bright light atop the hard hat. Got into the blue and white Stanley leather gloves. He looked at Marvin. For no reason other than to ascertain his whereabouts. Muck’s expression of disgust hadn’t changed much, not that it in itself mattered any to him.
Biggs reached for the Stihl Wood Boss chainsaw lying on the metal floor of the cooler. It was chilly in here and he needed to get the task-at-hand over with. He had Marvin position a large kettle below the blond’s feet. Yanked on the starter handle, and the chainsaw roared. The ear-splitting buzz shook the walk-in with its death knell.
Pearleen and Olivia slid back further into their corner, cowering. The Latina was shaking her head, hands pressed hard over her ears, pleading to be spared. Biggs grinned; he wasn’t even coming after her. He faced the bimbo with the peroxide hair and large tits, the bimbo hanging on the hook. He drew the blade up close, to her left breast. . . . The woman made a sound, something like a scream, closer to a loud gasp, actually; not much strength left.
“There is both purpose and method to this madness. About the only way I can keep my people fed without dipping into the slush fund. I don’t always enjoy these things, not always. Now and then I do. Very often I do. Other times it’s nothing more than a matter of economics, overhead.”
The blade whirred. The sharp teeth of the saw began to cut into flesh. Biggs gave the saw more pressure. Got the blade right up in there. He waited a moment. Began to cut through the left breast, and stopped. . . . He held the blade up, moved it toward the woman’s neck and began to cut there. Went in about an inch, cutting through the jugular, and blood spurted and spattered him in the face. Cecil welcomed that. There was the occasional bone fragment that bounced off the top of his hard hat, goggles, and chin. The risk one took.
He lowered the saw back down toward the left breast again and cut through it, cut right through it, the woman making sounds and flailing. The breast dropped off. A fountain of blood gushed out. Biggs continued to slice the other breast and watched it fall into the kettle. He moved the chainsaw away for a minute, held it back, then slowly held it straight out, moved it up between the semi-conscious woman’s legs and began to cut up through the vagina. Held onto the blade, struck bone, applied more pressure and kept going up until the blade reached the woman’s belly button.
He wiggled the chainsaw blade and watched more blood and entrails come spilling out, some viscera just dangling there over the edge of the kettle: half in, half out.
He withdrew the saw blade, held it across her chest horizontally and began to cut her in half. It was hard work, but Biggs stayed with it, kept cutting across, pulling back when bone got in the way, tried again and again until the lower part of her anatomy got severed and dropped into the enormous kettle on the floor. Kettles this size were more expensive than he cared to think about, and yet there wouldn’t have been any other way to do this kind of work without one.
Well, you cut corners wherever and whenever possible. However, some corners were impossible to cut.
Not only did blood flow and drop off, and plenty of it, but guts, bone shards, gristle, legs, and pelvis. Biggs stopped long enough to wipe his face with a white handkerchief. As cool as it was inside the walk-in, even with the slicker on, he had worked up quite a sweat.
CHAPTER 377
He looked down, didn’t have to, to know that the cutting had given him a second erection. That was a plus, the minus was his feet felt soggy. Blood had somehow gotten inside the rubber boots. That meant having to rinse them out later. Either burn the socks, or wash them. Time consuming details that irritated him.
He squeezed his groin inside his pants. Pearleen and Olivia were huddled together in the corner unable to control their hysteria now, throwing up, crying. They clung to each other, screaming for god’s help. Good. God was here. He’d already let that be known. It gave him a certain satisfaction seeing them this way.
Where was Marvin? Marvin was standing outside the cooler door that had been left ajar eating Twinkies and drinking from a can of cherry soda. Didn’t get off on the gore, he liked to claim at every turn. Sure. He preferred mugging crippled old witches and blind beggars peddling pencils.
Never let your guard down. One of these days the halfwit will be there with that shiv to stick in your back.
Biggs lowered the chainsaw. Shut it off. His boots were covered in blood, meat bits, and bone shards. Bib apron and slicker fared no better. He removed the safety goggles to wipe gunk off. Adjusted them back over his eyes. He unzipped his fly. Stroked himself.
“Hard as bamboo. I can go again. We’ll save it for after you’ve dollied up a bit, freshened the makeup; gotten you into those fishnets and high heels. Don’t mind this bitch here, what’s left of her. She was a bum fuck, that’s all. Should have seen all the trouble I went to to nab her. Took one hell of a chance to get her—and then she turns out to be a dud. Cunt too big. No rhythm. Just a lousy fuck. Acted like she’d never sucked cock before. I lost my patience, you could say. Don’t worry about her. She’s served her purpose. I’ve got mouths to feed.”
He forced his erect groin back inside his trousers. The other blond’s wincing drew his attention. Sandra Harcourt was squirming on the hook. In and out of it. He would have liked it if she’d stay alive and kicking for a couple more days.
“We’ll get to you eventually. No need to feel neglected. You’ll go out the same way. Just like the English teacher over here. You can count on it.”
Biggs turned the chainsaw back on and proceeded to cut Connie Higgins’s head off. The blade went through the woman’s neck like a knife slicing through warm butter.
The head dropped off, missing the kettle by inches. Hit the floor, bounced once and rolled in the general direction of the corner where the petrified Olivia and Pearleen remained.
CHAPTER 378
Biggs shut the Stihl saw off. Picked the head up off the floor.
“I try to save the heads. They make nice trophies.”
He wiped the head off, and propped it up on the shelf next to the prized skull collection. He walked to the cooler door.
“Get Greta.”
Marvin was busy draining the last bit of soda from the can and disposing of it behind his back, as if Biggs were some kind of idiot too dumb to see what was going on.
“Drinking up all my cherry sodas?”
“I ain’t, Cecil. Only one can, is all.”
“You don’t touch my supply of sodas, Hawaiian Punch, Twinkies, or Ding Dongs unless I give you permission. You didn’t think I’d miss it? I know exactly what I have in here because I keep track, understand?”
“Heard that, Brother.”
“You still hungry?”
“Hungry? Naw. I’m cool.”
“Suit yourself. Still have some cat food left, not to mention the Alpo. Got a few cans of kidney beans left in the cupboard.”
Marvin frowned. “Fuck that. Don’t like beans, but they ain’t as bad as that other shit: cat food, Alpo. Fuckin’ Alpo. I don’t be seein’ you eat dog food.”
“I ate my share of it as a kid. Like I said: suit yourself. Get the bucket. Mop the mess up in there. Get the Leaper while you’re at it. Want you to give her a hand with the kettle. Help her carry it up the stairs to the kitchen.”
Marvin stood there. Taking it in.
“Got all that? Or is it too complicated for you?”
“Naw, it don’t be complicated.”
“So what the hell are you standing there for?”
“Thought maybe there was somethin’ else.”
“Like what else?”
“Don’t it be time for the ho to skin them carcass’ an’ dress ’em out? Odor don’t be gettin’ no better. Pretty soon they don’t gonna be no good if we leave ’em hangin’ like that.”
“Got a point. At last.” Biggs handed him a pair of generic vinyl gloves. “Get the cook.”
Marvin left to carry out the order. The bishop turned to Pe
arleen. “I want heavy makeup on the ‘coed.’”
“Heavy on the makeup. For Olivia.”
“You heard.”
“Thought you said heavy makeup for the both of them, Hoss?” Marvin had returned with Greta Otto. Biggs told her to get into one of the slickers there. Handed her vinyl gloves.
He kicked the bucket under one of the animal carcasses. He slit the one dead dog with his switchblade from neck down to beyond the belly. When this failed to accomplish a wide enough cut, he put the chainsaw to work, widening it, and had Greta reach in there and scoop it all out and dump it into the bucket at her feet.
The bishop kicked the bucket under the other dog, and followed through with the same procedure. The Leaper dug her gloved hands in there and pulled the entrails out and dropped them into the bucket. Skinning followed. Hides were tossed in the bucket.
Biggs had Muck take the bucket and empty it in the furnace. Told him what temperature to crank it up to. While Marvin did that, Biggs handed Greta the saw and had her cut up the carcasses into manageable chunks, wrap them in clear plastic, and place them in the industrial freezer. She wasn’t sure what to do about the heads.
“In the freezer. Tongues are edible; so are the eyes. Jowls, too. Maybe.”
When the Leaper was done with that, she further made herself useful by dragging the kettle out of the Abattoir.
Sidekick was back.
“I did say that. What of it? You can change your mind when you’re boss, ‘Hoss.’”
“Wouldn’t know, me.”
“You happy now?”
“‘Bout what?”