by Jacob Stone
Jerry said, “I know, I know, that scene’s new, and none of that actually happened, but I felt the film needed some jazzing up there, and given Dodd’s hubris, the scene feels truthful to me, at least to the spirit of things.”
“Now that I’ve had a chance to think it over, you’ve got my blessing,” Morris said.
Jerry seemed satisfied by that, but still, he raised an eyebrow. “You’re not just trying to humor me, are you? After all, I distinctly heard you groan.”
“It was more me thinking out loud. But maybe if you cut that last piece of dialogue, the one where the Carver all but tells them he’s the Carver, and instead leave it simply with him cutting the bodyguard’s throat the moment the bodyguard turns his back to him—”
“Morris, babe, I don’t know. I really like those lines. I don’t want to lose them.”
Morris kept his placid smile intact. “Keep them. You’ve got my blessing, Jerry.”
Chapter Three
Henry rang the doorbell three minutes early. A valuable lesson he had learned as a young boy was that people appreciated punctuality. When the realtor, Corey Freeman, answered the door he looked surprised.
“Leslie Gorman?” Corey asked.
“You seem surprised,” Henry said, smiling in his pleasant manner. He really did have a naturally pleasant smile and gentle eyes that would usually put people at ease, and they did the trick here, at least enough so that Corey stepped aside allowing Henry to step past him into the house. The front entrance was mostly obscured by a fence and flowering bushes, but the less time he could be seen by someone passing by, the better. With only a slight hesitation, Corey closed the door.
“It’s my name that confused you, isn’t it?” Henry said with a wink. “Leslie? And also my voice. At least my phone voice. I’ve been told at times I sound like a woman over the phone.” He chuckled good-naturedly. “I can’t hear it myself, but that’s what I’ve been told. I’m sorry if you’re disappointed.”
Corey laughed at that. “No siree, very glad to meet you, Mr. Gorman.” He held out his hand, which Henry warmly took.
“Leslie,” he corrected.
“Leslie,” Corey agreed. His smile faltered as he gave Henry a quick, surreptitious look up and down, most likely attempting to appraise Henry’s net worth based on his inexpensive and worn clothing. Of course, he couldn’t have known that Henry wore what he did because he planned to dispose of the clothing later. “You said over the phone that you currently live a fair distance west of Los Angeles?”
“Simi Valley,” Henry said, which was true.
“I see.” Corey cleared his throat and in as diplomatic a voice as he could muster said, “Venice is a far more expensive community. I’m afraid you might be in for a shock when you see what you get for your money here. I, um, just want to prepare you.”
“Not to worry. I did my research before calling you.”
Corey acknowledged that with a nod, but he still wasn’t convinced. “You’re really paying for location and the Venice experience. But it’s hard to beat this area.” He hesitated before adding, “The banks are getting stricter these days. You’re going to need ten percent for the down payment.”
Henry showed a smile that would’ve made the Cheshire Cat envious, and his eyes twinkled with a gentle charm. “My wife and I came into a good deal of money a few years back. We have more than enough to pay cash for this house and a half dozen more like it,” he said, which was also true.
That brought a quiver to Corey’s lips and a gleam to his eyes. “Let me show you around then,” he said, the excitement of a possible sale ringing in his voice. “This house might be small, but it’s a gem. Solid, well-designed, and the great room, which I’ll be showing you soon, gets a wonderful amount of natural light. As you can see, the owner has already cleared out, so you’ll need a little imagination to picture what these rooms will look like furnished, but it will be quite a cozy home. Do you and your wife have children?”
Henry shook his head, which made the gleam in Corey’s eyes all that much brighter since that answer increased the chances he might be interested in purchasing the place. While the den could’ve been converted into a bedroom, no matter how much you talked around it, it was really only a one-bedroom house, and would be cramped enough for two adults, let alone adding any kids to the mix, and one could only imagine the size of the mini rhinoceros-like kids this chunk of a man would spawn. Of course, Corey couldn’t have known that Henry had no intention of buying this or any house no matter how the rooms were laid out, or whether or not the kitchen had been recently remodeled with top-of-the-line appliances. Nor could he have known that Henry had completely tuned him out, at least until they entered the great room, which was the nicest room of the house. Corey was pointing out the skylight, explaining how it could be opened and closed with a remote control, when Henry interrupted him by pointing to the floor and asking what that thing was. The way he said thing made Corey shudder. The room was empty yesterday when he showed the place. Could an animal have gotten inside and died? Please, Corey thought, don’t let it be a dead rat, like what he found two weeks ago when he showed that house on Thornton Place. He steeled himself and reluctantly looked down at what Henry was pointing at, but there was nothing there. Before he could say anything, he simultaneously heard and felt a loud thunk vibrating violently inside his skull, and then there was only blackness.
Chapter Four
One of the few advantages of having a wide, pudgy body like Henry’s was that you could hide a nine-inch iron pipe under your shirt without anyone noticing it. The realtor had been right. The great room did provide a good amount of natural sunlight, and Henry waited until they had entered that room before tapping Corey on the top of the skull with the pipe. It worried him the way the realtor had collapsed to the floor. He needed Corey alive and conscious, and if he had killed the man or knocked him into a coma, this would all be a waste.
Henry breathed out a sigh of relief when Corey began moaning. When he had first arrived at the house, he hid his backpack in bushes outside the front door, and he left the realtor so he could retrieve his backpack. He was gone for no more than thirty seconds, but when he returned Corey was on all fours, struggling to get back to his feet. Henry sat on Corey’s back, collapsing him back to the floor. The realtor put up little resistance as Henry pulled his arms back and wrapped duct tape around his wrists. He considered doing the same to Corey’s ankles but saw no reason to bother with that.
The realtor yelled for help. It would’ve been easy enough to shut him up—duct tape or one of the rags Henry brought would’ve done the trick—but he didn’t bother with that either. Given how Corey lay on his belly, his voice had no real strength to it, but even if he could’ve let loose like Pavarotti in La Bohème, nobody passing by outside would’ve heard anything. While Corey yelled himself hoarse, Henry hummed to himself Musetta’s Waltz from La Bohème as he placed his iPhone stand on a built-in bookshelf and fiddled with it, adjusting the angle so that his iPhone would be able to record what was going to happen. Once that was done, he took the chisel and hammer from his backpack.
After all of his yelling, Corey’s voice had become little more than a croak, the type of noise a rusty hinge might make. He was sobbing as he implored Henry not to hurt him. “Why me?” he pleaded.
That was a hard question to answer. While Henry could’ve told him that it was just bad luck, that wasn’t true. Corey was chosen because of his age, sex, and several intangibles that couldn’t quite be put into words. There might’ve been thousands of others who could’ve been chosen instead, but still, it wasn’t random. There was nothing Henry could’ve said to make the situation any more palatable for the guy, so he didn’t bother saying anything. Instead he used the chisel and hammer and went to work.
It didn’t take long for Henry to break apart Corey’s skull or for Corey to quit struggling. He still twitched now and then, but once Henry used the claw end of the hammer to dig out lumps of Corey’s brain, t
he twitching came to an abrupt end.
Once Henry was done, he checked the video recording he had made with his iPhone. It would suffice for what he needed it for. He gave a quick, cursory look at the mess he had made. As with the old nursery rhyme, Humpty Dumpty, nobody was going to be putting Corey Freeman back together again.
Henry used his pocketknife to cut the duct tape from the dead man’s wrists. He then brought the hammer and chisel to the bathroom sink with the idea of washing them off, but the water must’ve been turned off for the house. He should’ve been better prepared and brought a gallon jug of water with him. Oh well, it didn’t matter. He’d wrap them up in one of the rags he brought, and later when he incinerated his clothes, he’d throw the rag into the furnace also. Not that his clothes got any blood or gore on them. Still, better to be safe than sorry in case anyone spotted him nearby wearing them. He inspected his hands, and they were spotless.
After a quick change of clothes, Henry stored everything away in his backpack, then used a rag to wipe off any surfaces that he might’ve touched, not that it mattered. There were probably fingerprints from dozens of different people that could be lifted from the scene, and besides, his weren’t on record. Still, as he liked to tell himself, better to be safe than sorry.
Henry stepped quickly outside and hid behind the property’s fence until he was sure nobody was in sight. Then he took off, moving in a half-jog until he was two blocks away before settling into a more normal pace. After walking several more blocks, he found himself on the boardwalk, and soon melted into the crowd.
Chapter Five
Henry texted Susan Twilitter that he was running twenty minutes late and for her to order him a cheeseburger with sautéed mushrooms and a Coke, and that he would meet her at her booth. Susan didn’t know him as Henry Pollard, nor as Leslie Gorman, but as Howard Donner. He could’ve shown up on time since he had three hours to kill after killing Corey Freeman—time that he ended up spending at the Santa Monica Pier playing skee-ball and sitting on a bench looking out over the ocean—but he didn’t want to be seen walking into the restaurant with her. When he did show up at Susan’s booth, he was twenty minutes late on the dot, and the food had already been brought to the table. Susan seemed both relieved and surprised to see him, almost if she didn’t really believe he’d be coming, even though he had replied to three text messages from her assuring her each time that he was going to be there. It was sad in a way that she would be so worried about being stood up by the likes of Henry.
“You look like you didn’t believe I was really coming,” he said pleasantly, his thick lips twisted into a warm smile.
“What? No, not at all. I trust you, Howard. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you, that’s all. And I was worried that your food would get cold, but it was brought out only a minute ago.”
That was another reason Henry planned to be twenty minutes late. So that his food would already be at the table and the waitress wouldn’t see him with Susan. He scooted in next to her and peered at the small garden salad that sat untouched in front of her.
“Is that all you’re eating?” he asked. He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think that’s going to be enough. You’ll be needing your energy, especially with all the activity we have planned.”
She blushed at that and ran her hand down her flat belly as if she were smoothing out her shirt. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “After all, I have to watch what I eat so I stay attractive for you.”
“Ah heck, Susan, you could eat a dozen hot fudge sundaes and you’d be thin and beautiful.”
“You’re so sweet.”
“It’s the God’s honest truth.”
And it mostly was, although Henry stretched things with the beautiful comment. At forty-three, Susan was somewhere between slender and bony, with broomstick-thin legs and arms, barely any ass, and not much of a chest. Plums, at best, if he were being generous. Henry liked a woman to be more full-figured with some meat on their bones, like Sheila had been before the accident, and not have a boyish figure. Still, Susan did have a nice smile, and with her blonde hair, catlike brown eyes, freckles, and slightly upturned nose she could be very cute. Even with his gripes, she certainly rated significantly higher on the attractiveness scale than he ever would, and while she might not have been his ideal of feminine beauty, he could see how there’d be men out there who’d find her pretty, at least if they could overlook her barely ripe plums.
“How a pudgy schlub like me found someone so ridiculously hot and sexy is a mystery,” he said.
He was laying it on as thick as he was partly because of that miserable little salad she was going to be eating for lunch. A few leafs of wilted iceberg lettuce, three pieces of cucumber, a couple of shriveled and pathetic-looking slices of green pepper, and two cherry tomatoes. What a lousy thing to be having for your last meal. The thought of it saddened him, and made him want to be extra nice to her during her last few hours alive. He added, “And so youthful looking. Not a day over thirty. I swear to God.”
That one was a straight-out lie. Susan had her share of wrinkles, and with years of desperation seeped deeply into her flesh, she looked every bit her age. Still, it got her beaming, and she reached under the table and rested her hand on Henry’s thigh. Her smile turned wicked. “It’s so dark in here we could almost do the dirty deed right here without anyone knowing.”
The back room of the restaurant being kept so dark was one of the reasons Henry had chosen this place. Being able to slip in through the back door without being seen was another reason, and the parking garage half a block away that didn’t use security cameras was yet another. He and Susan had started dating three weeks ago, seeing each other secretly in dark restaurants and out-of-the-way places because Henry claimed he was preparing to divorce his wife, and that if his wife found out he was involved with her it could severely affect a settlement.
“Millions of dollars are at stake,” Henry had told her, which would be true if he was actually divorcing Sheila. “My lawyer is getting all the i’s dotted and t’s crossed, and as soon as he gives me the go-ahead, we’ll go public, but until then I’ve got to be extra careful.”
So far things had been mostly chaste between them. A stolen kiss, a quick embrace, held hands, that type of schoolyard thing. The last time they met, Susan had told Henry that she was ready for them to be intimate, and their plans for after they finished their late lunch were to go hiking in the Santa Monica Mountains to a hidden and isolated spot Henry knew about so that they could get intimate there. In a way, that was all going to be true. Henry was going to take her to a spot he’d found off a little-used trail, and he couldn’t imagine anything more intimate than what he was going to be doing to her. In many ways he regretted what was going to happen. Over the last three weeks he’d grown to like Susan quite a bit. She might’ve been a bit neurotic at times, but aren’t we all? Besides, she was a nice person, had a good heart, and if he was really looking to divorce Sheila, he could imagine himself becoming romantically involved even if she wasn’t physically his dream girl. Who was he to complain? He’d found out early in life that he was physically most girls’ cruel joke. There was even a minuscule chance he might’ve changed his plans for the afternoon if she had reprimanded him for calling himself a pudgy schlub, but as nice as she was she probably knew she couldn’t do that with a straight face. No, there were forces greater than himself at work here. The words “the things we do” whispered in his head.
He forced those thoughts out of his mind, and addressed Susan’s joke about consummating their relationship right there at the booth, saying, “Don’t tempt me. You’re going to give me a stroke with thoughts like that.” Then turning serious, he asked, “What do you see in me? You’re a beauty while I look like a big block of cheddar cheese that’s been melted in the sun. What are you doing with me?”
Calling her a beauty was an exaggeration, sure, but even with her barely ripe plums and nonexistent ass, most guys would rate her at least a six, while he’d
be lucky to rate a two from any woman. She took her hand from his thigh so she could hold one of his thick meaty hands with both of hers.
“Howard, please, don’t ever say that about yourself. You’re the most gentle soul I’ve ever encountered, and you’ve got the kindest, most beautiful eyes. And you know what they say about the brain being the most powerful aphrodisiac? I’ve never met a man whose brain turned me on as much as yours.”
He had to fight hard to swallow back a giggle when she made that comment about his brain, and somehow he forced himself instead to simply nod. She let go of his hand, the two of them seemingly losing themselves in their private thoughts. While Henry chomped away on his cheeseburger smothered in sautéed mushrooms, he caught a glimpse of the intensity burning in Susan’s face, and noted the pinkish hue that was now coloring her cheeks. She really believed what she said, and he knew that she was deep in thought over what she was expecting to happen later that day. If only she had refuted his crack about himself resembling a block of melting cheese. That was one last lifeline he had thrown out to her, but it was too late now. What was going to happen was inevitable. As he masticated and swallowed the last remnants of his cheeseburger, he absently whispered to himself, “The things we do.”
“What was that?” Susan asked, a nervous eagerness burning in her eyes.
Henry smiled at her. “Just telling myself for the thousandth time what a lucky guy I am to have met you.”
She took hold of his hand and gave it a squeeze. “What a sweetie you are. Ready to go on our adventure?”
Henry left thirty dollars on the table, which would more than cover their bill. “I’m going to hit the little boy’s room,” he said. “I’m parked in the garage next door. How about I meet you inside the pedestrian entrance?”