Smiling, Jim Munchel paused in his work. “Wayne heard I belonged to a snuff film ring. We had an event once where we screened a film in which the victim was partially cannibalized while he was still alive. Wayne was interested in viewing that film, so I arranged a showing. And because of my willingness to bring him into my circle, he felt he could trust me with what he was envisioning. By then, it wasn’t about sex at all. It was about...” Jim’s face seemed to become reflective. “...it was about experiencing new things. Finding new ways to taste food, to prepare dishes, to make the dining experience more enriching and rewarding.”
What Jim was telling her was horrifying, but she couldn’t let its sheer awfulness affect her. “So Wayne’s behind all this...”
“He’s certainly the figurehead,” Jim agreed. “He acquired the taste overseas. I’d been intrigued by it ever since a dear friend of mine, Mabel Schneider, raved about it. I’d always wanted to try it, and Mabel told me that human flesh can be prepared like pork so...” He shrugged. “When Wayne made his offer I decided to take him up on it. Mabel gave me one of her recipes and I made it my own. It was quite challenging.”
“I...I still don’t...” Anna was having a hard time trying to wrap her mind around it. She knew what she wanted to say. How do you get your victims? But that sounded like a stupid question. She was tied up. That was her answer.
“I noticed you months ago,” Mitch said. He was smiling at Anna, watching her calmly. Was that sense of yearning in his eyes really a look of hunger? Looking into Mitch Johnson’s handsome features was like looking into the face of a hungry tiger. “I saw you in downtown Denver at a restaurant. You were there with a group of your co-workers, I believe. This was back in April. Do you remember?”
Anna searched her memory and came up with the incident easily. Actually, she had been at the restaurant—a popular sports bar across the street from the Denver convention center and attached to the Hyatt Regency hotel—with her former co-workers. She’d been laid off from her job over a year before and still took in lunch with the girls every few weeks. She didn’t remember seeing Mitch that day, but she supposed he could have been there, silently watching her, admiring her. “I remember,” she said.
“The moment I saw you, I realized you were perfect,” Mitch said. “I knew right then that I had to eat you. After your party left, I made a couple of casual inquiries about the group you were with and found out they were from a consulting firm called Tek-systems. One of the waitresses knew your name. That was all I needed.”
The implications were obvious. “What did you find out?”
“Everything.”
Anna thought carefully before proceeding with her next question. “So you found out I was out of work? That I’d been a consultant with Tek-systems and I had been lunching with my former co-workers?”
“But of course.”
“And you knew I was working a waitress job in Aurora?”
“Yes, I did.”
“You found out where I lived?”
“Where you lived, your phone number, all that pertinent information.”
“Did you follow me around when I went out?” Anna asked, her mind racing. She felt a worm of nervousness at the implications, but kept a straight face. “When I went out with my friends on Saturday nights, or when I went to visit my mother on Sundays?”
Mitch chuckled slightly. “We didn’t have to go that far, dear. Just enough to learn most of your habits so we could lure you away easily. That’s always the key, making sure the abductions themselves aren’t typical. Instead, people just disappear like that!” He snapped his fingers.
So they didn’t learn everything about me, Anna thought. That was painfully obvious by his answer to her last question. She continued, her mind racing ahead of her. “You pulled strings to have me hired for this job.”
“Bingo!” Mitch grinned again. “Your college transcripts indicated you maintained a 4.0 grade average. Pity those smarts didn’t keep you from losing that cushy job you had at Tek-systems.”
Anna almost said, yes, it is a pity, but didn’t. She was just about to deal a card in this mind game when a voice called out from the storeroom just off the main pantry. “Chef Munchel? Can you and Mr. Johnson come out here for a moment? We have something to show you.”
Mitch Johnson turned to Chef Munchel, who shrugged. Mitch frowned. “They enter the storeroom through the back way?”
“They did,” Jim said. He set the butcher knife down on the table. “And I think I know what this is about. Step this way, Mr. Johnson.” To Anna. “Hang tight, Miss King. We’ll be back.”
Mitch and Jim stepped through a rear door and closed it behind them, leaving Anna with a few precious moments to plan her next move.
CHAPTER 36
Everybody was assembled in the main storeroom when Jim Munchel and Mitch Johnson stepped inside. Jim nodded at them, making sure all board members were present, as well as those in the circle who had paid for this season. Wayne Sanders stood in the middle of his loose throng of Bent Creek board members. He was wearing a tan business suit and wire-frame glasses, his bald pate shining from the bright fluorescent lighting. Standing at his left was Emily Wharton and two other board members, Gail Scott and Don Vachss. To his right was Earl Sanders, George Spector, Steve Whittaker, and Amory Patterson. Carl White, Theresa Johnson, and another half dozen or so members of the club were also present. Only Bob Garrison and another couple were missing—James and Beth Tyler, from Connecticut. They’d only arrived at Bent Creek late last night. He would pass the word on to the Tylers and Mr. Garrison himself when his prep duties for this evening’s dinner service were over.
Lying on the table was Rick Nicholson, the former Director of Operations at Bent Creek. Jim noticed that Paul Westcott and his security team were conspicuously absent. It figured. Paul, Scott, Pete, and Glenn knew about the club, did not want to be a part of it, and were paid handsomely for their silence, but they also had very weak stomachs. Paul had once told Jim that he didn’t want to hear about what was done to the people he sometimes helped subdue and keep within the country club grounds. “I know what goes on,” Paul had said, “but I don’t want to know the gory details.”
That arrangement had worked out splendidly. When Emily told Jim that Paul and his team had identified the perpetrator of the rash of thefts as Rick Nicholson and that she wanted him added to the menu this week, Jim suggested they take offers from other interested parties in the event who wanted to try him. Emily was all for it. Of course, Rick had denied being the thief, even when confronted with the evidence. They had to get rid of him somehow. According to his Human Resources profile, he was completely healthy, too.
Rick was tied up and gagged. His eyes were wide with terror. His face was drenched with sweat. He looked at the assembled board members, at Carl White and the Johnson’s, recognition flitting through his features but not comprehending what was happening. The fear was evident in his eyes though. And that was perfect. Just where they wanted him. Fear produced endorphins that made the blood rich with oxygen. Killing somebody at the height of their fear bathed their flesh with those endorphins and gave their flesh a rich, sweet taste. The more afraid Rick was, the better.
“Very good,” Jim began. “As you see, this one has just been added to the menu at the last minute. In conferring with Mr. Westcott, we decided not to add the Daniels to the menu due to Jackie’s opiate addiction and the uncertainty of Shane’s own system. I understand he was a heavy drinker. Alcohol destroys the liver, as you all know, and the liver is such an important vital organ. I’m afraid Shane would taste rather shitty. Anyway, long story short, Rick is a much better addition. I realize this will leave us with a lot of leftovers. I can have whatever is left-over from him freeze-dried and over-nighted to your residences with the correct measurement of ingredients and a recipe should you wish to buy in.” He looked at the assembled throng. “So, do we have any interest?”
Gail Scott took a step forward. She was in her early fif
ties and looked like she might be a lawyer in the outside world. She wore a burgundy business suit and her shoulder-length brown hair was pulled up into a pony tail. She gazed appreciatively at Rick’s lean, muscular body. She reached out and caressed his thigh, giving it a slight pinch. “Mmmm, nice legs. I bet he has a nice ass, too.”
“His ass is mine, bitch,” Emily Wharton said. Her tone was joking and she grinned. Everybody in the room laughed.
Jim grinned at Gail. “To be truthful, I am dying to roast his ass cheeks in the oven with my special mushroom gravy. I’ll split him with you.”
“Deal,” Gail said. Her eyes were dancing with anticipation.
“Anybody else?” Chef Munchel said, surveying the room. “He’s lean and muscular. He should yield some nice loin steaks and some tasty ribs. And his biceps are nice.” Chef Munchel fingered Rick’s right bicep. Rick tried to scream through his gag and shuffle away, but was restrained by the awkward position he was laying in. “Just look at those. If health nuts only knew that all the talk about proper diet and good exercise, especially good weight training, only made them more appealing to us as culinary dishes, they’d stop exercising and eat at fast food chains more.”
“So true,” Earl Sanders said. He was watching all of this with interest. “And I must say it’s sad it’s had to come to this for Mr. Nicholson. I understand he was a great asset to the management team.”
“He was,” Emily Wharton agreed. She nodded at Jim. “If you and Gail are going to divide him up, let’s adjourn. I need to get back to my suite and finish writing an email to my secretary.”
“Very good,” Jim said. His gaze swept across the room. “So he goes to Gail and I? Last chance for any other takers.”
There were scattered “No thank you’s” and shaking heads. Then they started to drift away, retreating from the table and heading toward the outer door that led to the back; Jim usually made it very clear that he didn’t want anybody in his kitchen. Mitch raised his hand to get Jim’s attention. His wife, Theresa, was standing next to him. “Mind if I take Theresa back to the kitchen?”
Jim sighed. “No, go ahead. I’ll be there in a moment.”
Mitch and Theresa exited the storeroom and headed to the kitchen. Jim Munchel stood by the table where Rick Nicholson lay trussed up and gagged, his eyes wide with horror and shock, sweat streaming down his face. As the other members of the club left, Jim turned to Rick. “Pity it had to come to this, Mr. Nicholson. I rather liked working with you. No hard feelings, hmm?”
Whatever it was Rick Nicholson shouted, it came out as a series of muffled gibberish. He shouted and strained at his bonds, his face stricken with panic. Jim smiled and shook his head. “I know, Mr. Nicholson. I’m a bastard, and a degenerate, and I’m going to pay for this. Trust me, I will. Mr. Sanders will require that I contribute something if I am to acquire you, and I feel it’s only fair. After all, we’re taking great risk in presenting you as part of the menu this week. Plus, there will be leftovers.” He paused for a moment, silently counting down the main menu items this week. There was Dale Lantis, the overweight man from Accounting, who was to serve as a sort of rump roast recipe he had that called for a cut of meat with a high fat content; there was the two bodies cut up and packaged in the freezer that Paul Westcott and his team had procured; there was Brian Gaiman, who Emily Wharton had bought and who, like Anna King, had been lured to Bent Creek at the request of their purchasers because they wanted their meat as fresh as possible. Unfortunately for Emily, Brian had managed to escape. And now they had an extra.
Jim Munchel frowned. He wondered if this was starting to get a bit out of hand. Brian Gaiman escaping was bad enough. Jim was still nervous about that and had wanted to call off the event, but Wayne had insisted, assuring Jim that they were safe. Killing Shane and Jackie was done out of necessity—the disposal of their bodies would be easy enough, but explaining away their disappearance would have to be dealt with. For that matter, so would Rick’s disappearance.
While Jim could appreciate Wayne’s reasons for wanting to add Rick to the menu, he had to question if it was the right thing. Rick would be missed. After all, the guy used to be a lawyer. He probably had friends that cared about him. Eventually, any investigative trail would come to Bent Creek for Jackie, Shane, and Rick. Paul Westcott would know how to deal with that if the time came, right?
Voices from the kitchen interrupted his thoughts. Laughter, coming from the Johnson’s. It was time. “Tell you what...” Jim Munchel said, pulling out the butcher knife from the sheath he wore around his waist. “Nothing personal, but I have to deal with a matter in the kitchen. The Johnson’s have paid for one of your former waitresses, Anna King. I plan to prepare five meals from Anna, with the first to commence tonight—grilled steaks, from the flesh carved from her calf muscles. Gail’s meal is actually already in the freezer awaiting preparation, so I can put you aside until later. Bon Apetit!” And with one swift motion, Jim Munchel drew the sharp edge of the blade across Rick Nicholson’s throat. Rick’s eyes bulged suddenly and he began to struggle. Jim stepped calmly away from the spray of blood, then headed toward the kitchen, leaving Rick to bleed out.
CHAPTER 37
The hallways of Bent Creek were deserted.
Joe Taylor made his way calmly and carefully down the hall to the elevators. He rode down to the lobby and stepped out, looking both ways, listening. All was quiet.
Joe turned left and headed toward the front lobby. He could see through the large plate glass doors that led to the large marbled walkway that spilled out to the circular driveway and it was deserted. It was still daylight outside, but the sun was going down. It would be dark in another two hours or so. He was fairly certain the front door to the resort was locked. He was also fairly certain that whatever remained of the crew at least two, possibly three members of the security team were still on the grounds. One of them was probably watching him now. Joe noticed the security camera as he walked past the elevator banks and into the lobby. If he was spotted, and if anybody in security felt it was wrong for him to be wandering around here, they would come down and intercept him. He would deal with that if it came. For now, he was going according to plan.
Joe headed for the door to the Administrative area. He paused for a moment, then turned the doorknob. It was unlocked. He let himself in.
He shut the door quietly and stood there for a moment, taking everything in. The Administrative area was dark and silent. It had the sense of emptiness. Joe walked slowly down the hall past cubicles and offices. He had no idea which office to hit first, but his best bet was one in the rear of the Administrative wing that would provide the most privacy. He was to find an office and turn on a computer. In his pocket were two thumbdrives. Dean had given him explicit instructions on how to bypass start-up and go directly to a DOS prompt to change the computer’s BIOS. “We’re going to change the BIOS so the computer will boot directly from a thumbdrive,” Dean had said. “The program on the thumbdrive will hack the password and get us full access to the network at an Administrator level. Once you’re in, here’s what I want you to look for and download to the other thumbdrive I’ve provided.” Dean had given him a list of files and their possible directories and explained that he hadn’t been able to get complete Administrative access when he’d hacked their network earlier. “The program on this first thumbdrive will do the trick. It should take you no more than fifteen minutes to get what we need and get out of there,” Dean had said.
The files Dean was after was anything containing personal information on Earl Sanders and Wayne Sanders. “In case we need it for a trial,” was Dean’s catch-phrase. In reality, there would be no trial. Either Joe would learn what had happened to Carla or he wouldn’t. There was the very possibility he would spend the next five days at Bent Creek dining on exotic dishes prepared from human flesh and get chummy with Earl Sanders yet learn nothing about his daughter. And if that was the case, the files he obtained from Bent Creek’s computer network might prov
ide them with the information they needed to strike at a later time.
And so help me God, Joe Taylor thought as he reached the end of the hall, his nerves tingling as he sensed that he wasn’t alone, if I find out Carla’s disappearance resulted in her being cannibalized by these people, they will be sorry they ever set eyes on her.
Joe stood there for a minute, his heart pounding. He reached into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out the Sig Sauer. Somebody was close by. He could sense them. He couldn’t tell what office they were in, but he had that spidey-sense feeling that somebody was poking around. In fact, they were—
A drawer in the office on his right opened and closed. Another drawer opened. There was the sound of somebody pawing through the contents. Joe listened carefully. The way the search sounded, whoever was pawing through those drawers wasn’t familiar with whatever was in the desk. To Joe’s trained ear, it sounded like a prowler. Somebody from Security?
From the office, a muffled, “Shit, I’m so fucked!”
There was a good chance that if Joe retreated back down the hall he wouldn’t make it. The intruder would either exit the office at the right time and see him and then the chase would be on, or he’d step out of the office at any moment and there’d be a confrontation. Joe couldn’t have that. He knew he had the element of surprise and he decided to take it.
Joe stepped toward the open doorway that led into the office and pointed the Sig’s barrel inside. The blinds were drawn and all Joe could make out was a wiry man wearing a pair of battered and dirty dungarees and a blue workshirt rummaging through the desk. He reached for the phone on the desk, picked it up, and hit a series of buttons. He wasn’t even aware of Joe standing in the hallway, that’s how wrapped up he was in his search. Joe took a step forward and got a brief glimpse of the man’s face—he looked terrified.
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