by Brian Hodge
“Michael, it’s Mama.” Great. Just what I needed. Every time I had a bunch of important stuff to do, Mama had to call and interrupt me. “I need you to come over to the house.”
“What? What time is it?”
“It’s a little after eleven. I know you’re in the car; I can hear it. Just drop what you’re doing and get over to my house right away.” I couldn’t imagine any emergency that would actually require attention at this hour. She sounded fine. The last time she called me, panicking and begging me to come over, it was because her refrigerator was making a funny noise. She’d be making a funny noise when I put my boot up her ass. Sometimes I wished she was dead.
“I can’t Mama, I have … I’m on a date.” Technically true. And we were on our way to someplace special. Mama nagged at me for most of the rest of the ride. I couldn’t decide if her yammering was better than the silence. At least the silence gave me some time to think.
It was pretty easy to get by the main fence. I and my duffel bags made it all the way to the Komodo dragon enclosure. I do love those things. But they were nowhere to be found. Did they put them away at night or something? I’d been here after closing lots of times and the dragons were always right where they should be. I was so ready to watch the zoo’s Komodo dragons totally rip apart the treacherous Elise. It’s not like she didn’t deserve it; she’d tried to hurt me right up until the very end.
No security guards around. That was good at least. But no dragons! My genius plan was collapsing and I was at a loss for how to fix it. I’d never be able to get into the reptile house, and those alligators and crocs weren’t big enough to eat a whole body, even if it was cut up into parts. They should have giant, saltwater crocs here, just like in Australia. I wished all this was behind me and I was with my Angel. She’d make everything all better.
I was getting pretty nervous. I was carrying parts of a dead woman in a big open space where I wasn’t supposed to be. I thought maybe I should just leave. Then I noticed it. Carnivore Alley, it was called. How could I have forgotten about Carnivore Alley? I really wasn’t thinking straight. Looking around once more and seeing no one, I opened up the first duffel bag. I threw a hunk to the lionesses. It landed with a soppy thunk in the enclosure. Even in the darkness, I could see the two female lions approach it, and begin to tug at it. Their eyes were shiny like reflectors. I threw in another piece, this one on the opposite side of the enclosure. Now the male lion was interested. I emptied out the whole first duffel bag. Watching them eat under the dim park lights was so … National Geographic. Pretty amazing. I wanted to pull myself away; I still had an awful lot left. I took the other bag over to Grizzly Mountain. It wasn’t really a mountain, just a manmade hill in a zoo habitat. When I finally left, a big brown grizzly sow, with a white spot on her chest, was gnawing away happily on what looked like the left arm. I remembered a story I’d heard where they had to shoot a lion at the zoo because it ate someone. They said once they got a taste of human flesh, they’d crave it all the time. I kinda hoped that wasn’t really true. At the same time, it’d be sorta cool if it were. Time would tell, I guess.
By morning, there’d be no trace. I threw the empty duffel bags in the water by the big bear fountain. That fountain was always my favorite. Plus, it would wash away all the blood and stuff on the bags. I knew because it smelled like the swimming pool at the YMCA. Bleach. Another genius plan. On my way out, I took a couple of bus tokens from my pocket and tossed them in the bottom of the fountain. For some reason, it made me think of Uncle Stan.
Chapter Fifty-Three
(Fran)
Murderous
“Hello, Fran.” Mike entered the café, eyeing me in a way that added to my already palpable terror. He looked around in an obvious way, clearly trying to scope out those schoolgirls. They weren’t here yet, thank goodness. It looked as if he might stick around to wait for them.
“Can I get a couple of cheeseburgers?”
“Um … sure, Mike. You want those to go?” I was hoping he’d take his burgers and leave us be.
“Nah, I don’t have much going on today.” He said it sarcastically, reminding me that he didn’t have a job anymore. Of course, it wasn’t my fault he didn’t come in to work for a week, after being a less-than-stellar employee. I needed to keep reminding myself of that. Somehow, I felt really sorry for him.
There were lots of reasons not to call the police. What if they made some kind of horrible scene? What if they had to shoot him? Farfetched, maybe. But anyone at all could be hurt. I looked around my café, full of chatting women, hand-holding couples, and a smattering of children joyfully devouring my famous petit fours. (We don’t make those here—they’re actually delivered by a service in Battle Creek.) Poor, oblivious people.
Mike had just started on his second burger when the girls showed up. He choked on his food at the sight of them. I was keeping a close eye on him. He walked over to them and started talking, and I knew I needed to say something.
“We’d like three Cokes and a basket of fries,” one of the girls announced as he stood there leering. Not one so much as made eye contact with Mike.
“Oh … I don’t work here anymore.” He stood there smiling at them expectantly. I have no idea what he was hoping for. The girls looked at each other in silence, then burst into a fit of giggles.
“You don’t work here anymore?” the chubbiest of the three said, through laughter. “Then why are you taking our order?” All three girls laughed the way young girls do. It wasn’t malicious. It wasn’t mean at all.
Mike’s face flushed purple. His fists clenched; he was shaking. I had never seen anyone look so angry over nothing. I called Jorge to come up from the back while I went over to take the girls’ order for real. Jorge could certainly intervene if something untoward happened, I hoped.
“Can I help you ladies with something?” I stepped around Mike, who was still standing there looking murderous. They ordered again and I pretended to write it down. Mike stormed out without paying and without another word. The girls went on laughing, with no idea of the hell they’d almost brought on themselves.
That was it. I’d had enough. Mike had walked out without paying; he had actually broken the law. I dug up the card that policeman had given me. Of course he didn’t answer. It seems policemen were never around when you needed them. I sat in the office for almost an hour with a cup of hot tea, trying to calm down and waiting for the police to phone back. I was so jittery and nervous. Mike hadn’t actually done anything. He’d just stood there, looking angry. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why that frightened me so much.
“Are you … Fran?” A different policeman, one I’d never seen before, rapped on the front door of the café. I jumped, picturing Mike dressed in fatigues, bounding in here and shooting up the place. He’d surely kill us all before taking his own life. So senseless. And the police? I’d called an hour ago—we could have been killed waiting for them to show up!
“Yes, I’m the owner here. We just closed,” I told him, as I opened the door and stepped aside. Hope he wasn’t expecting coffee or pie. Coffee was thrown out and the day-old pie was going home with Jorge once he finished the dishes. He’s a good man, that Jorge. He’s got a wife and kids to support. With what I could afford to pay him, I couldn’t begrudge him some day-old pie every now and again. He’s got a strong work ethic, that one.
“We received your message. I understand you’re having a problem with an employee,” he took out a small notebook and flipped it open. “A mister … Goret?”
“Goretti,” I corrected him. “Mike Goretti is his name. He’s a former employee, actually. I fired him and he’s still coming in all the time. Today he … he left without paying.” I don’t know why I didn’t tell him about the girls. That was the most important part. Can’t imagine I’d ever call the cops about someone doing a dine and dash. Not much they can do about that. ‘Sides, most people’s orders only come to about five dollars. I’m not one to make a big deal out of little
bits of money.
“Left without paying?” The cop looked as if I’d completely wasted his time. “Is that why you left us a message today?” I’m not a competent liar in the best of times. Not sure if I could get away with lying to the police. I didn’t know what to say, exactly. In all my years running the café, I’d never had to deal with a situation like this. Even a robbery would be easier to cope with.
“He’s just … he’s a weird guy. Makes the female customers uncomfortable. He stares at these young girls, regulars. I think once he may have been following them.” I had no proof of this, and figured the cop would laugh in my face. Making people feel uncomfortable isn’t a crime. It’s certainly nothing to call the police about. I don’t know … I just felt unsafe. Maybe it was silly to call the police in order to feel safer. Wasn’t that what they were there for in the first place?
“What makes you say that?”
I explained to him how sometimes Mike left in such a hurry right after those girls did. And about how angry he got today.
I waited for the cop to tell me there was nothing he could do. Instead, he wrote furiously in his tiny notebook, nodding as I spoke.
“You will make the arrest?” Jorge had come walking out of the kitchen, apparently finished with his mountain of dirty dishes. He looked around for the promised pie, and I pointed at it for him.
“And he left without paying, did he?” The cop closed his notebook with finality. “Not a very serious crime is it?”
“He left with no paying … that is stealing.” Jorge said. With a tip of his cop hat, the man in blue thanked us and went on his way. It felt like a huge waste of time. If I’d known then how much of my valuable time I’d be wasting on Mike, I’d never have gotten the police involved at all. It’s not as if they did a damn bit of good.
Chapter Fifty-Four
(Mikey)
Project Heavenly Angel
Bitches! Goddamn little bitches, laughing at me, treating me like a servant. Ordering me around. I didn’t have to take that shit from them. Who the hell were they to boss me, telling me to get them Cokes and fries when I don’t even work there anymore? I could do anything I wanted to those girls, and there’s nothing they could do about it. They’re small and weak and I … well, I could do whatever I wanted now. I could get away with anything I wanted. Time had proved that again and again. I drove my car, even though the Red was all over it.
The best thing to do now was to get my Angel alone. I couldn’t get her if those other twats were nearby. They’d rat me out for sure. They all stuck together against us men. Who could blame us for wanting revenge?
Once I found her alone, it’d be easy to get her in the car and all the way to her little playhouse. I was going to clean it up first, to make it nice for her. But if she and her little bitch friends wanted to laugh at me, she could just sleep in a pool of Elise’s treacherous blood. That would show her good. I’d better fix up the car for getting her, though. A few quick moderations could make all the difference.
Probably the best time to get her was when she went out to walk her dog. She walked him every afternoon when she got home. On the weekends, though, she could walk it anytime. I could wait around all day undetected. It’s not as if anyone would be watching for me. Nobody knew about me and my Angel; I was doing an awesome job keeping a low profile. Everything was working out so well.
I still had chloroform left over from getting Elise. That had worked really well last time. It was just like in the movies. I didn’t really want to use that, though, if I could help it. I wanted her to come with me out of love, or at least voluntarily. It’s always nicer if girls come with you because they want to. Maybe I could kidnap her dog and then promise to take her to it? That would bring us closer together in the end.
It was about two-thirty in the afternoon on a cloudy, chilly day. I heard it through the open window. The dog was whining. It wanted to go outside. I couldn’t believe my luck. This could have taken weeks and weeks to happen, but it was happening now.
I started the car and pulled it around the block. When I got to the alley near her door, I stopped and stayed with the motor running. She walked by with the yippy dog, still not on a leash. I blared my obnoxiously loud horn at them. The yippy dog took off at top speed down the street, just like my dog did when I was little. Max never came home.
Angel called the dog, Tipsy or Trixie or some silly thing chicks name their dogs. That’s when I went for it. I pulled up next to her; she wasn’t even running after the dog. She just stood there, looking sad.
“What’s wrong, Angel?” I asked her, as I rolled down the window. She looked up at me with these big, weepy eyes. It was so adorable.
“My dog.” She pointed in the direction the dog had gone. I asked her if she wanted a ride to go look for him.
“Would you really?” she asked, smiling. I couldn’t believe it was going to be this easy. God really did want me to do this. He was finally smiling down on me after all these years of trials and tests. I was just like Job. I opened my car door and my Angel jumped inside.
My head gets light. I feel dizzy like I might pass out or puke or something. It’s crazy. She’s actually in my car with me. She’s here. Now. Right this second. I have her. She’s mine. Finally.
“He went over there,” her voice is far away, another dimension. I look at her, see her pointing. I want more than anything to just make her happy. Make her smile. Make her love me. She’s so beautiful. I drive the car in the direction she pointed until we catch up to the fluffy little yippy dog. Instead of slowing down, I speed up. Just a little.
“What are you doing? That’s my dog right there!” My Angel reaches for the door handle, but it’s been taken off. Another part of my genius plan. I was hoping she wouldn’t try to escape, but given my past experience with these treacherous women that wasn’t very realistic.
“It’s okay Angel, we’re just going for—” I was going to say “a little ride.” I’m going to tell her I’ll have her home soon, just so she won’t worry. But she interrupts me.
“You’re that guy from the diner,” she accuses. I’m glad she calls Fran’s café a diner too. We’re so totally in sync. She starts to say something else, and I know I have to get moving. Angel hasn’t really freaked out yet, but it’s coming. I can always tell. I swerve down onto the private road that leads to those fancy houses all arranged in a circle.
I don’t want to do it. I really don’t. It just happens that way. I have to put the chloroform on her, just like Elise. I don’t want it to be like this. I don’t want to treat my Angel like a common, treacherous whore. I want it to be nice. Why do these girls always have to act like I’m the bad guy? Why can’t they appreciate the trouble and waiting and planning I go through to be with them?
When she finally stops moving, I put the handcuffs on her. I let her keep her hands in front of her just to be more comfortable. I really don’t want to hurt her, just keep her with me for a while. Just long enough for her to get to love me. I buckle her seatbelt and put the blanket over her. That way, no one will see the handcuffs when we go to pick up some cheeseburgers on the way. I’m starving after all that sitting and waiting and smoking. I bet she’s pretty hungry too.
Chapter Fifty-Five
(Our Narrator)
The Harder They Fall
“You guys cut the door open?” The sheriff wore a tan suit and wide-brimmed hat as he walked with us toward the blood-tainted shed. I found it vaguely funny that the actual sheriff had come out, rather than just sending an average, uniformed officer.
“Yeah,” Dad told him. “It had a couple of those … whaddaya call ‘em? Deadbolt locks.” The sheriff sneered at my dad, who looked back at him defensively. “Hey, it’s on my property. I didn’t give no one permission to be building anything here. I got every right to—”
“Yes, of course you do.” The sheriff held up a hand to silence him. “How much farth—oh, I see it.”
We reached the shed and the sheriff wasted no tim
e in grabbing the door and pulling it open. He didn’t even put on gloves.
“Isn’t that, like, evidence?” I asked him. Shouldn’t any cop in the world have known enough to put on gloves before touching evidence? “Shouldn’t you be wearing gloves or something?”
“No need to tell me my business, son.” Son? I was in my thirties, for Chrissake. He pulled a small flashlight from his belt and pointed it into the doorway. “You two have no idea who else might have been up on your property?” He kept his eyes locked on the inside of the makeshift wooden room, obviously trying to be nonchalant. I wasn’t fooled.
Dad looked at me, but didn’t say a word. We both knew Mikey had been here when we weren’t. The odds that someone who wasn’t Mikey had been here for long enough to build this thing and do … but we didn’t really know what had happened. It was almost certainly bad. It was almost certainly Mikey. It was a long way from thinking your buddy might have done something weird to actually telling the cops about it. I didn’t really know anything. The mere fact that Mikey had stayed up here would make him look suspicious as hell. What if he hadn’t done anything? I’d be guilty of—what is it? Libel? Slander? I’d forgotten which.
Sad thing was, I’d known Mikey since we were real little. When you’ve known someone for that long, it’s supposed to mean you trust them. It’s supposed to mean you don’t really think they could ever do anything terrible to anyone else. They could never do violence or murder or any of the ghastly things we found out about later. It’s supposed to mean that because you’ve allowed a person in your life for so long, they’re worthy and deserving. They’re basically good. So either I’d never really known Mikey at all, or I’d known him all along and never had the sense to figure it all out. Betrayal or stupidity? Nice choice.