“So you like to stay in character?” she asked.
“I figured we might as well just start up right away,” I said. “Since you’re paying by the hour and all. Plus I don’t want to traumatize your child, you know, by them seeing a headless Elmo or something.”
She laughed.
“Sounds good. The kids are out back. I’ll walk you through. And my daughter is Lily. I think she’s the only one in yellow.”
“Great. I brought some treats for the kids too,” I said.
“How thoughtful.”
We entered the house. It was bigger than most in San Francisco, which held mostly townhouses like Brendan’s. It must have been an advantage of living in the Presidio, where there was much more open space than in the city itself.
Another woman, close in age to Vanessa, approached.
“I’m Lynn. Thanks so much for doing this for the kids. They are going to love you.”
Stay normal, I told myself.
“You’re welcome,” I said.
“Do you want me to grab the treats and set them down?”
Stay normal! Think of something that makes sense.
“No, I’ve got it. Sometimes I like to take them with me and pretend to eat one. When the kids realize I can’t because I’ve got a mouth that doesn’t open, they always laugh.”
“Ahh, that’s cute.”
Jackpot! I would have been a great normal person.
The two women walked with me through another room. I hoped they were the only chaperones. I could easily dispose of both of them with the knives.
We entered a playroom of various colorful, noisy kids’ toys everywhere. Two huge glass doors at the end of it opened out on to a big lawn.
And out there, probably twenty-five little children were looking my way.
Elmo is here, you soon-to-be-dead fuckers.
Vanessa opened the sliding glass door for me.
“Elmo is here,” she yelled.
The kids started screaming in unison.
And as several made their way toward me, I realized a potential problem. If they grabbed at my wrists or forearms, they’d likely touch one of the knives.
I quickly put a Ziplock bag over each forearm.
The kids jumped up and down around me. I looked over at Vanessa, who didn’t look impressed. I couldn’t risk this ending early.
In the closest voice I could approximate, I started talking like Elmo.
“Elmo loves you all!”
The kids went even more nuts.
“Elmo loves this green stuff! Is this called grass?”
The kids loved my voice.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t wait to start feeding them the brownies.
I saw a young child dressed in yellow and remembered what Vanessa had said about her daughter Lily.
“Are you the birthday girl?”
She smiled.
“I’m six,” she said.
I looked over at Vanessa, who now smiled along. Lynn, the woman who’d asked to carry the brownies, stood on her left. One other woman had been outside, and she watched the kids running around me from the other side of the lawn.
With two knives I thought I could take care of three women.
“I’m six,” Lily repeated.
At that moment, I heard a phone ring. It was definitely a house phone.
I looked over at Vanessa, who was having too good of a time watching the kids. She didn’t head towards the house.
But it scared me.
And my manic side kicked in. Again.
Is someone calling to warn her? Have I been found out? If they’re calling her, can the police be far behind?
I couldn’t take the chance.
It was time!
“Elmo brought everyone some dessert. Does everyone want a little brownie?”
The kids screamed the loudest they had yet.
“They are really good. You kids are going to love them.”
More screaming.
“So let’s all start a single file line and I’ll give you each your treat. You know what a single file line is, right?”
“I do! I do! Me! I want to be first!”
I heard all their voices shrieking with excitement. And knew they would soon be silenced.
They started forming a single file line. Or as close to one as a bunch of six-year-olds could.
Lily found her way to the front of the line.
“It’s the birthday girl in front! Come get your present from Elmo!”
She stepped forward.
49.
I hopped out of my car.
“Keep trying Lockett! And call 9-1-1 again!” I said to Cara as I ran away.
She had given me permission to go ahead without her. And it was the right decision.
I sprinted to the front door and rang the doorbell. I knocked as loud as I could. But there was no response.
I began to yell.
“Is anyone here? Please answer! It’s a matter of life and death!”
Still nothing.
I couldn’t waste any more time at the front door.
I ran to the left side of the house, but all I saw was a narrow little alleyway that didn’t look like it led anywhere.
The images of dead children sprang back into my mind. I couldn’t shake them.
I sprinted past the front door and to the right side of the house.
And this time I heard voices. Kids’ voices.
I considered yelling, but I didn’t know if the Butcher had a gun or a knife. If at all possible, I wanted to keep the element of surprise on my side.
I moved quickly along the side of the house, heading toward the kids’ voices.
I heard someone say, “You know what a single file line is, right?”
It sounded like an adult trying to talk like a baby. I knew why.
I moved closer. The kids’ voices got louder.
A gate opened in the wall a few feet in front of me. I was tall enough to just barely look over it.
Elmo, a.k.a. the Butcher, stood in the middle of the lawn. His back to me.
Approximately twenty kids and a few adults surrounded him.
I slid the gate open, trying to be quiet. Once I started running, I was going to be going full speed at the Butcher. I just hoped that none of the kids would scream too early and give him time to react.
I tried to wait until I had slid the gate fully open, but I heard the voice say, “It’s the birthday girl in front. Come get your present from Elmo.”
Looking closer, I saw a Ziplock bag by his side.
He took something out of it.
I couldn’t wait any longer.
I pushed the gate open and started sprinting toward the Bay Area Butcher.
50.
A parent screamed as I set off in the direction of the man dressed as Elmo.
They probably assumed I was a crazy man headed for their kids. For all I knew, they feared, in that split second, that I was the Butcher himself.
But the real Butcher didn’t turn around right away. And I might have had the kids’ voices to thank. Surrounded by their excited shrieking, he probably didn’t hear the grown woman’s alarm.
I heard another scream from one of the parents.
Finally, a few feet before I was going to blindside the Butcher, he started to turn around.
It actually worked to my advantage.
By time he faced me, my feet had already left the ground. I catapulted through the air. I met him chest to chest and we went flying a good five feet. The Ziplock bags flew across the lawn, away from us. I landed on top of him and started throwing haymakers at his face.
If, by some miracle, it wasn’t the Butcher, I’d surely be going to jail. I would have taken that in a heartbeat.
I punched him two more times, using leverage to keep on top of him. I was winding up to punch him again when something hit me over the head.
It didn’t hurt that badly, but it cost me the split second that the Butcher needed.
&n
bsp; He rolled off of me and I saw him reaching for something underneath his costume. It glinted as he brought it out. A knife. He lunged at me with it. I managed to slide my body back and avoid his wild swing. As he pulled the knife back, it fell out of his hands.
I slid over and grabbed it off the ground. But as I did, he produced another knife.
We each rose to our feet.
The children had all gathered together around one of the adults. I walked to put myself between them and the Butcher.
The other two women were nearer the house. One of them held the remnants of the flowerpot that she’d hit me with. But now it had hopefully become clear that I was protecting the children. I’m sure they had no idea what to think.
“Call the police!” I yelled to them.
They both ran inside. I believed there was still an adult behind me, but I didn’t dare turn around.
The Butcher and I remained in a standoff. He was now ten feet from me. Not close enough. It’s not like he had a gun and could just shoot me. We each had a knife.
His Elmo outfit looked off-centered, the eye-holes not where they should be.
He sighed and pulled off his mask. Like I knew it would be, underneath was the face of the man I knew as Tad.
“Good to see you, Quint.”
“It’s not too late to turn yourself in.”
“That will never happen.”
He stared at me, seemingly deciding whether to rush me or not. I was deathly afraid of him running to the front with Cara being out there. But obviously, I couldn’t leave the kids.
So, in case he went toward the front of the house and I had to follow him, there was something I had to do.
“Can the woman back there hear me?” I said without turning around and giving the Butcher a chance to rush me.
“Yes,” a woman’s voice said.
“Those brownies are poisoned. Do not let the kids touch or eat them. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
As she answered, the Butcher ran toward the gate I’d entered from.
I ran after him, but he definitely had a head start.
Please, Cara, still be in the car!
51.
I was right behind the Butcher as I approached the gate, but he slammed it back at me, which cost me a split second opening it.
I started sprinting past the side of the house.
“Cara! Get inside the car,” I yelled as loud as I possibly could. “Get in the car, Cara!”
I was only ten feet behind the Butcher, but once he turned the corner, there would be a few seconds where I couldn’t do anything.
“Cara! Get inside the car!” I yelled again.
The Butcher rounded the house. I was going to be two seconds late, and they were the longest two seconds of my life.
Please, please, please, don’t let me see Cara out in the open.
But I did.
She had obviously heard me, and was headed back to the car, but she was a good ten feet from getting there. The Butcher moved quickly toward her. She wouldn’t have time to get the door open and climb in.
Our eyes quickly met and there was an intense fear in her eyes.
I shouted the only idea that came to mind.
“Cara! Dive underneath the car!”
She did as I said.
And the Butcher realized if he got on his knees to go after her, I would be on him in no time and stab him in the back.
He turned around to face me.
“Another standstill, huh, Quint? You’ve been a good adversary.”
And then the sound of police sirens filled the air.
The Butcher ran toward the green Lexus.
“Cara, you can get out from underneath there.”
She did.
“In or out?” I asked.
The Butcher had started his car up and headed away from us, not wasting time on turning his car around.
“In,” Cara said.
She threw me the keys and we both got in.
I peeled off the curb and pressed the pedal down as far as it could go.
“Where do you think he’s going?” Cara asked.
“If I had to guess, I’d say the Golden Gate Bridge.”
“You could do a lot of damage with a knife and everyone walking around.”
“If I have the chance, I won’t let him get there.”
We took another turn and that was when I saw his car, about one hundred feet ahead of us. I was already going as fast as I could, but maybe he’d slow down on the turns and I could catch up.
If he had been driving a 2020 Lexus, I’d have no chance. But I could compete with a 2011 model.
As he took a sharp right turn ahead, I saw brake lights flash on the Lexus.
“Hold on tight,” I told Cara.
I had to slow down a tiny bit, but I took that turn as fast as I possibly could. As we made it back on the straightaway, I had cut the distance between us by more than half.
Another turn was coming up, and then we’d be on the final road that led to Highway 101.
I realized something.
“His car is more of a deadly weapon then that knife would ever be,” I said to Cara.
“You’re right. Jesus.”
My mind was made up. If I had a chance to T-bone him, I’d have to do it.
I had no doubt that if he saw a group of pedestrians, he’d try to take them out.
We approached the final turn. Once again, I saw break lights coming from the Lexus.
It gave us a fighting chance.
I took this turn even faster than the previous one.
We were now on Lincoln Boulevard, which would take us right to Highway 101 and then the Golden Gate Bridge. I couldn’t let him get there.
We had pulled even with him.
It was a two-lane road, and that presented me with two choices. I could veer into potential oncoming traffic and try to push him from the side. Or I could just try to hit his bumper and send him off stride.
Truth be told, if Cara hadn’t been with me, I probably would have gone with the former. But I didn’t want to risk heading into oncoming traffic with her in the car.
So I started bumping the Lexus from behind. I did it once, twice, three times. But he stayed on course. And I realized we would be at the bridge in less than a minute.
I’d tried the safer way. With no luck.
“I’m going in the other lane,” I told Cara.
“If you’ve got to do it, do it! Just get him off the road.”
I looked ahead on the other side of the two-lane road. No car was coming. I accelerated and drew parallel with the Lexus.
I saw the Butcher look over in my direction.
And as he did, I swerved my car into his. The paint on the two cars hit. The noise was awful. But I’d initiated the collision and that gave me the upper hand. I looked over and could tell he was losing control.
But as I looked over at him struggling with the wheel, I lost some concentration, and hit the curb on the other side of the road. It was now me who had lost control and I went over the edge. Luckily, it was just a ten foot ravine and our car settled at the bottom without anything being broken. It was too steep to drive back up, however.
Cara and I hurried out of the car.
“Do you want to come with me?” I asked.
I looked at her and could tell just how exhausted she was. Her forehead had a small scrape, likely from when we went down the ravine. But I didn’t think her exhaustion was all physical. Everything had likely finally caught up to her.
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t be any help. You go. Get him arrested or kill him. And then come back to me.”
“I will,” I said.
And I ran up the hill.
I looked ahead of me. On the right side of the road, with smoke coming from the engine, was the Lexus. And twenty feet ahead of that, headed toward the Golden Gate Bridge, was the Bay Area Butcher.
52.
Like I had been in the cars, I was behind o
n foot and had to catch up.
As with everything I’d done over the last half hour, I moved as fast as I possibly could. Before you knew it, I was forty feet behind him. Thirty feet. Twenty feet.
It worked to my benefit that he still had his Elmo outfit on. Heavy and bulky, it must have been hard to run in.
The air filled with the sounds of police sirens. And not one or two. But many. And they were getting louder and closer by the second.
The Butcher had to know it was ending.
We had made it to the last little bluff before the Golden Gate Bridge.
He was only ten feet in front of me. Down at his side, he still carried his knife. I couldn’t let him get to the bridge first.
My lungs burned with each breath. I was running on fumes.
As we passed the final bluff, I could now fully see the spectacular view in front of us. The first bright red arch of the bridge went skyward directly above us. A few hundred feet down, the uncompromising Pacific Ocean.
I was trying with all my might to catch up to the Butcher, but the surroundings were impossible to ignore.
He hit the start of the bridge with a five-foot advantage. The closest people to us were a family of four, posing and taking pictures, about twenty feet from us.
I realized the Butcher was going to reach them first.
“Turn around,” I yelled. “The man in the Elmo costume has a knife.”
The father heard me and quickly turned around.
He saw the onrushing madman with a knife and had time to do only one thing. He pushed his wife and two young children behind him.
The Butcher stabbed him in his right flank. The man crumpled and his family screamed.
The Butcher removed the knife and was about to stab him again. When I tackled him. I sent him flying down the walkway on the bridge, and we rolled over each other a few times.
But unlike at the kids’ party, the Butcher ended up on top.
And I saw him raise his knife above his head and send it down toward me.
The sirens of the cop cars were getting louder and closer. It seemed like they were the last noises I was ever going to hear. The police were too late. The Butcher was going to kill me.
As the blade got closer, I didn’t have time to move my whole body. So I just moved my head.
The Bay Area Butcher: (Quint Adler Book 2) Page 28