Without Mercy

by Len Levinson

  He approached the door of her building. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw no one behind him, and ahead was just an old man about thirty feet away. Entering the vestibule of her building, he pressed all the buttons next to the names except hers, and waited, taking a roll of tape out of his pocket. Sure enough somebody in the building was waiting for somebody, and the buzzer in the door went off. Kowalchuk pushed it open, taped the latch, and let it close again. Then he turned and left the hallway, walking nonchalantly to First Avenue. Whoever had buzzed the door would be waiting to see who was coming up the stairs, but soon he’d give up and go back to his apartment. Then Kowalchuk could enter the building and move about pretty much at will.

  He walked to First Avenue, turned around, and went back. It was possible that somebody might come downstairs right now, see the tape on the door, and remove it, and he hoped that wouldn’t happen because then he’d have to do the whole thing over again, and that might make people suspicious. He wondered what Evelyn was doing right now. Probably sitting in her slip drinking that black Cuban coffee she used to like. What a day this was going to be for her.

  A young hippie guy came out of her building and walked the other way. Kowalchuk ground his back teeth together and cursed, because he hoped the hippie didn’t notice the tape. Kowalchuk entered the hallway and pushed the door. It opened up for him, and he smiled as he entered the downstairs corridor. Those damned hippies are so spaced out they don’t know what the hell’s going on. If the door was off the hinges they wouldn’t notice.

  Kowalchuk stealthily climbed the stairs. This was the tricky part, and he’d have to be careful. He’d also have to be lucky. But he wanted to see Evelyn’s dirty blood and take her money, and he was hungry as hell. His stomach had been growling all night and he had a headache. But it was good to miss meals because that would make him lose weight so he could fool the police.

  Up the stairs he went. Evelyn lived on the top floor in back, and he passed her floor, climbing the section of stairs that led to the roof. Halfway up, he stopped and sat down. He’d sit down there and wait until she came out of her apartment, then go down and have a little chat with her.

  A door opened several floors down, and someone descended the stairs, but it was too many floors down to be Evelyn. He hoped nobody would come up to where he was, but if someone did he’d pretend to be a drunk asleep on the stairs. It was common in the East Village to find bums asleep on the section of stairs between the roof and the top floor of apartments. On East Ninth Street he’d heard that a bum had once spent an entire winter on that section of stairs in the building next door. The building had been full of hippies and none of them had the heart to throw the bum out, but if Kowalchuk had been living in that building he would have thrown the son of a bitch off the roof. He’d never liked bums, and after his weeks on the Bowery, hated them even more, especially since one of them had tipped off the cops to his identity. But that old buzzard had paid for it. Kowalchuk had followed him to the toilet and cut his throat while he was taking a piss. The fucking bum didn’t know what hit him.

  Kowalchuk heard doors opening and closing inside the building. He peeked through the railing and saw hands going down the banisters on their way to work or maybe one of the neighborhood bars. He looked at his watch and it was nearing eight o’clock in the morning, the time Evelyn used to leave for work. He knew the time because he used to walk her to the subway when the neighborhood was crawling with junkies.

  A door opened at the front on the floor beneath him, and Kowalchuk held his breath. The door closed, he heard the locks click, and then the person moved toward the stairs. Kowalchuk looked through the railing and saw a man’s black pants going down the stairs. Did she have a guy staying all night with her?? he wondered, angry and jealous. No, she wouldn’t dare do that in a building where many people knew her. The guy probably was from the other apartment at the front of the building.

  Ten minutes later he heard another door open at the front on the floor beneath him. He heard a jangling of keys and was sure that was Evelyn because she always used to jangle her keys while looking for the right one to lock the door. She’d always carried a lot of keys around, to closets and trunks and things. Evelyn was a little bit of a nut when it came to locking things up.

  Footsteps moved toward the stairs, and Kowalchuk looked through the railing. He saw a woman’s tan raincoat and a hand on the banister that looked like Evelyn’s. It was now or never. He got up and moved down the stairs. He descended to the landing of Evelyn’s floor and hopped down the next flight, going fast enough to catch up with her but not enough to alarm her. He heard her quicken her pace, she probably wondered who was coming down the stairs. People in the East Village could get awfully paranoid.

  He turned the corner of the stairs between the fourth and third floors, and saw her on the third floor landing. Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder at him. She was a dumpy woman with short black hair, and her eyes widened with fear at the sight of the bearded stranger. She hesitated and opened her mouth. He came at her quickly, taking out his switchblade and hitting the button.

  “Don’t make a sound, Evelyn,” he murmured, descending the last few stairs to the landing.

  Her face went pale. “You!”

  “If you scream I’ll kill you where you stand,” he said softly. “Turn around and go back to your apartment.”

  Her lips quivered and her feet became frozen to the floor. “What do you want?”

  He pushed her gently. “Get moving.”

  She tried to intimidate him like in the old days. “Now put that knife away and stop being silly!”

  He looked around nervously, sweat forming on his forehead. “Get moving Evelyn, or I’ll cut you down, so help me God.” He brought the point of his knife to her throat.

  Evelyn looked fearfully at him, blinked, and began climbing the stairs. She’d read the papers and knew he was the Slasher. When she’d found out, it had nearly floored her, but she never dreamed that he’d come to see her. She thought he’d forgotten all about her.

  Kowalchuk walked beside her, the knife hidden beneath his denim jacket, feeling a tremendous surge of power and confidence. He’d let her push him around for years, while this was all he’d had to do.

  They returned to her floor and she took her ring of keys out of her pocketbook. Her hands trembling, she selected the two that opened her door, inserting them in the locks and twisting. She looked up at him. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you Frank?” she asked in a quavering voice.

  “Not if you do what I say.” She opened the door and they entered her spick-and-span kitchen. It smelled fresh, and all the fixtures were gleaming. For Kowalchuk, it brought back memories of the times she used to let him inside her apartment. He used to love to come here, even though she’d been so mean to him. And it was here that she’d brought that sanitation worker to fuck and suck, instead of him.

  He bolted the door behind them and she looked at his knife, terror in her eyes. It appeared that she might faint at any moment. ‘‘What do you want, Frank?”

  ‘‘How much money have you got with you?”

  She placed her purse on the table and opened it, taking out a wallet. ‘ ‘About eighty dollars.”

  “Give it here.”

  She withdrew the money from the wallet and handed it to him; he put it in his jeans pocket.

  “I know you always keep money around for emergencies, Evelyn. Where is it?”

  “In my bedroom.”

  “Get it for me.”

  They walked through the living room to the bedroom, the room where he’d always wanted her to take him, and she took the sanitation guy there instead. It was neat and clean like the kitchen, with white lace doilies covering the dressers and the fragrance of her perfume in the air.

  “I’m afraid of you,” she whimpered.

  “You should be, after all you did to me. Now get me the money.”

  She opened a dresser drawer and took out a white envelope, which she hand
ed to him. He looked inside and saw a sheaf of bills. Taking them out, he counted two hundred dollars in tens.

  “That’s all I’ve got here, Frank,” she said.

  “How much you got in the bank, Evelyn?”

  “The bank?”

  “Yeah, the bank.”

  “Around three thousand dollars.”

  “Where’s the bank book.”

  “In here.” She took the bank book out of the same drawer where she’d kept the envelope of money.

  He opened the bank book and saw that she had $3,443.26 saved up. “How much of this is mine?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You always were borrowing a hundred dollars here and a hundred dollars there, and never paying it back. How much do you think you squeezed out of me over the years?”

  A tear rolled down her cheek. “I meant to pay you back, Frank.”

  “Sure you did. How much did you give that sanitation guy?”

  “What sanitation guy?”

  “The one you were screwing.”

  “I wasn’t screwing him,” she said.

  “Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me!”

  “Please put the knife away, Frank. You’re scaring me.”

  He smiled. “Good.”

  She wrung her hands nervously. “Frank, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I never meant to hurt you, honest. I can’t help it if things didn’t turn out the way you wanted.”

  “Yeah, you couldn’t help it if you’re a fuckin’ cunt.” He looked down at the bank book. “I want my money back, Evelyn.”

  She swallowed hard. “Okay.”

  “We’re going to go to the bank right now together, you and me. You’re going to withdraw three thousand dollars in tens and twenties, and then we’re going to return here and you’re going to give it to me. Then we’ll be even, okay?”

  “Sure, Frank.”

  “And if you try to call the cops or anything like that, I’ll cut your throat just like I did with all the other women. You know I’m capable of doing it. Let’s go, Evelyn. It’s time to pay back your debts.”

  They left the apartment and went down the stairs. They walked to her savings bank on the corner of Second Avenue and Eighth Street and went inside together. He waited for her at one of the tables while she got in line with her bank book, and her face was white as a sheet. He was far enough away so that no one would know they were together, but close enough to cut her down if he had to. His hand was in his pocket, closed around his knife. He was ready for anything.

  Finally she came to the head of the line and presented her bank book and withdrawal form to the teller, a bespectacled spidery young woman, who inserted the bank book into a machine, pressed buttons, made written notations, and finally handed Evelyn the money inside her bank book. Evelyn dropped the money and bank book into her purse and walked out of the bank. Kowalchuk followed her.

  They walked back to her apartment together, not saying anything. He thought about the many times he’d walked her home and left her at her door, having to be content to peck her cheek once and then leave. After he had gone the sanitation worker went upstairs, according to a friend of Kowalchuk’s who’d lived in the building. The sanitation guy had all the fun and Kowalchuk had paid for it, but today things were going to be different.

  They went up the stairs and entered her apartment again. He bolted the door and she took the money and her bank book out of her purse, handing him the money. He counted it, smiled with satisfaction, and folded it into his jeans pocket. That money would keep him going for a long time. The cops would never catch him now.

  “Well,” she said, brushing the backs of her fingers against her hair, “I did what you said, Frank. Can I go to work now?” There was a desperate tone in her voice, as if she couldn’t wait to get away from him.

  He’d heard that tone before, only before it had been mixed with irritation, whereas now it had fear in it. “No, there’s something else I want you to do, Evelyn. You always used to play cockteaser with me, but now you’re going to suck my cock just like you sucked that sanitation guy’s cock, or else.” He took his switchblade out of his pocket and hit the button. It snapped open in his hand.

  Her eyes goggled at the knife. “I never did anything like that with Albert,” she whined.

  “Was that his name, Albert?”

  She nodded.

  “You mean he used to stay here all night and you didn’t fuck him?”

  Her eyes were like those of a frightened dog. “He never stayed here all night, Frank.”

  “You’re lying to me again, Evelyn. I know he used to stay here all night because I used to wait down in the street to see what time he’d come down. I used to sit on those stoops all night just to see if you were making a fool of me, and I found out that you were, and now you’re trying it all over again.”

  “No I’m not, Frank. Honest.”

  He bared his teeth. “You’re such a fuckin’ liar, Evelyn.”

  “You’re scaring me, Frank,” she blubbered.

  He looked at her, then the knife. He didn’t want her to cry, at least not yet. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said soothingly.

  She wiped away the tear. “You’re not?”

  “No. We’re just going to go to the bedroom together and fool around a little, and then I’m going to leave.”

  “You promise you won’t hurt me?”

  “I promise.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Go to the bedroom and take off all your clothes.”

  “All right, Frank. All right.”

  He followed her to the bedroom, an erection growing in his pants. She’d always excited him sexually; there was something warm and soft about her that’d appealed to him. Now he was going to have her at last.

  They entered the bedroom and she faced him, strain showing around her mouth.

  “You want me to do it right here, Frank?”

  “Right there’s fine.”

  He stood with his legs far apart and his knife in his hand, watching as she removed her raincoat and lay it over the bottom of the bed. Underneath she wore a blouse and a skirt, and she began unbuttoning her blouse with unsteady hands.

  “Relax, Evelyn,” he said. “I’m just going to get what you should have given me before, and then I’m going away.”

  She took off the blouse, revealing a white slip that covered a brassiere and her large motherly breasts. Embarrassed and frightened, she unbuttoned her skirt and let it fall to the floor. Picking it up, she folded it and lay it at the foot of the bed. Then she took the bottom of her slip in her fingers and pulled the garment over her head.

  Kowalchuk’s erection throbbed as he gazed upon her in her brassiere, underpants, garter belt, nylon stockings, and high-heeled shoes.

  He thought she was much sexier than the young girls in the Times Square porno movies, because he often saw young girls naked and in erotic poses, while Evelyn was a grown woman, full breasted and big-assed, and you never saw women like her in those porno movies.

  She reached behind her back and unhooked her brassiere, then took it off her round low-hanging breasts. Kowalchuk had masturbated many times over thoughts of those voluptuous breasts, and now he was seeing them for the first time.

  Avoiding his eyes, she sat on the bed and took off her shoes. She unhooked her nylons and rolled them down. Standing again, she pushed down her underpants and garter belt together, laying them atop the other clothes at the foot of her bed. Her skin was smooth as vanilla pudding and he stared at her black pubic hair.

  “Do you want me to get onto the bed, Frank?’’

  “Come over here, Evelyn, and get on your knees.’’

  She hesitated a moment, then bit her lip and stepped toward him, dropping to her knees as he unzipped his fly and took out his erection.

  “Suck it, Evelyn,” he said, “and if I feel any teeth I’ll smack you.”

  Chapter Six

  “I didn’t know he had a girl friend,’’
Jenkins said, sitting at his desk looking at the photos of Evelyn Ditchik lying naked on her bed with her throat slashed.

  Detectives Olivero and Dancy sat on the chairs in front of him. Olivero wore a fedora on the back of his head and Dancy smoked a pipe.

  “She wasn’t exactly his girl friend,” Olivero said. “They just used to go together a couple of years ago.”

  “It’s too bad nobody told us about her, or that she never stepped forward herself.”

  “Those Ukrainians are awfully close-mouthed,” Olivero replied, “or at least they were. Now everybody who ever knew the son of a bitch is calling for police protection.”

  “Her boyfriend,” said Dancy, “wants to move into the Ninth Precinct until they catch Kowalchuk. He thinks Kowalchuk might want to kill him.”

  Jenkins shrugged. “He might. There’s no telling where he’ll turn up next. Does Rackman know about this yet?”

  “Yeah,” said Olivero. “I called him as soon I found out about it myself.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “He didn’t say anything.”

  “He didn’t say anything?”

  “No. He was quiet for a few moments, then he said thanks for telling him and hung up the phone.”

  Jenkins scratched his eyebrow. “He’s counting on the stakeout to get the Slasher. The ad will be in the paper next Wednesday?”

  Dancy removed his pipe from his mouth. “Next Thursday.”

  Jenkins sighed. “Let’s hope the Slasher doesn’t get anybody else before then.”

  Chapter Seven

  It was night and Kowalchuk was walking down a street in South Brooklyn. Three-story buildings with long stoops lined the sidewalks and on the corner at Wykoff Avenue a bunch of Italian kids were horsing around in front of a candy store. Kowalchuk passed them by, his hand on his switchblade, and kept walking, looking at the numbers on the buildings, most of which were identical to each other. After a few more blocks the sidewalks were deserted of pedestrians, and an occasional moving automobile was the only sign of life. Kowalchuk remembered a movie he’d seen about a city that was deserted because all its people had died of atomic radiation. It had looked something like this.