Gavin English Thrillers

by Ken Lindsey

  I gave in and sat up. A naked girl was laid there with me, sleeping at the other end of the couch. I rummaged through my pants, which were lying on the floor, until I found a cigarette. Everything smelled like sweat and sex and stale whiskey. Another fun night I couldn't remember.

  About halfway through the cigarette, I decided I should put my pants on. They were booze-stained and covered in glitter, but they slid on soft and comfortable. My stomach growled and I couldn't remember eating anything the day before, so I went to the fridge. There, I found a note scrawled on a piece of lined paper, attached to the fridge by a plastic cow magnet.

  Gavin-

  I had to go to work. Fuck you for sleeping in. Get these girls out of my apartment and don't let them steal anything. Then you can get the hell out too. I'll call you when I get the info you wanted.

  Girls? I looked around the living room and kitchen and still only saw the one girl. After a minute of searching, though, I found another sleeping in David's bed. She had a tattoo on her bare shoulder that read "Ginger." That seemed familiar.

  My stomach growled again. I made myself a couple of scrambled eggs and a cup of instant coffee that I found in the cupboard. After breakfast, I woke the girls up, offered to shower with them (they declined), and ushered them out of the building. Once they were gone, I made sure I had all my own crap, locked the door, and walked out into the daylight.

  Damn it.

  My Jeep was still at the strip club. Another good start to another good morning. No way in hell could I walk, feeling the way I did. I called up one of the cab companies in my contact list and told the operator where I would be.

  I lucked out and got the only cabbie in the world who didn't want to talk my ear off. I dozed, and before I knew it, we were in the parking lot with my Jeep, and another car which sat patiently waiting for its hungover owner as well. I gave the guy a ten, and told him to keep the change. He pulled away from the lot looking pissed.

  I drove home, turned my phone to silent, and slept until the next morning.***

  Frustration writhed like a pit of snakes in his stomach as he walked down the stairs toward the basement. They had spent their first night together, with everything going as it should. Jennifer ate his offering, and then he bathed in the warmth of her fear and revulsion once she learned where her meal had come from. The first nights were always perfect.

  Since then, though, the girl had shown no fear, no anger, nothing. It had been four nights since her last meal, and she hadn't asked for food or spoken any other word to him. No one had ever made it past three nights without asking, begging for food. When the fourth night came and went, without any give from his newest lover, he knew he needed to move forward.

  As the heavy, steel door slid open, a shaft of light crossed the room and fell across Jennifer's face. She was pale, gaunt after days with nothing but water to sustain her young body. He couldn't let it continue or she would starve to death, and that would be a terrible waste.

  "Good morning, lover," he said as he got the apron and gloves from his storage closet. Her eyes were open, but her face portrayed nothing. He watched her closely as he readied himself for the day's activities. Once his gloves were on, he walked to the sink and began sifting through the blades that were soaking in the basin of acetone. To get her cooperation, to finally bring her to his side, he would need something large for effect, and something sharp to make her first time go smoothly.

  "It's not polite to ignore my greeting," he said as he lifted the bone saw into her field of vision. He never used it, didn't like damaging the bones, but it worked well for garnering the response he wanted.

  Jennifer's eyes went wide, bunching her brows into a knot beneath the head strap that kept her from moving around on the bed. She squeaked, and he felt his pulse speed up. Fresh tears began washing away the salty streaks that had covered her face since that first night. He couldn't help the smile as it grew wide on his face.

  She didn't know about the scalpel, the paring knife, and the needle that he had dropped into the front pocket of his apron. Those were the real tools for the day, and he couldn't wait to use them.

  "Please don't..."

  "Ahh, so you can talk to me, if you want to." He was turned on; blood rushed south and he felt almost light headed. "You've been obstinate the last few days, I feared you may have gone mute."

  "Pleeease, let me go home," she whined.

  "Do you remember that word, Jennifer? Obstinate? I believe I used it the first time I ever gave you detention. You were being obstinate in my class, something I hope will not continue on in my home."

  She stared, doing her best to track him as he moved around the room, without turning her head. She looked on as he pushed a metal cart up to the side of the bed, and poured something clear from a gallon jug, into a steel bowl.

  "Mr... Mr. Williamson... Why are you doing this?" she asked, panicked and on the verge of screaming.

  "Well, Jennifer, I have to assume that you are famished. At least as hungry as I am; more, since I ate dinner last night. Tonight, I'm going to prepare a special meal for us." He smiled as he stuck the hypodermic needle into her calf. She jumped, but only bent the needle. Her legs were bound too securely for her to do any real damage.

  "What are you doing?!"

  "Hush, lover. I'm only giving you a tiny bit of anesthetic, to keep you from passing out on me." She began to thrash and cuss and beg, but he no longer heard her. The familiar hum rose expectantly in his eardrums as his blood began to boil. It was almost time. First the pain and the begging, the fear, and then later, it would be time for dinner. He couldn't wait to see her take the first bite of her own deliciously cooked flesh. He decided he liked to watch them eat it just as much as he enjoyed eating it himself.

  "PLLEEEEASE!!" she screamed, fighting with all she had to look down, to see what he was doing to her leg. He knew she couldn't feel anything, but the terror of not knowing had to be as painful as the cuts.

  "Ssshhhh..." he said as he gripped her left calf muscle and readied the scalpel. He only needed eight ounces. With the potatoes and the spinach puffs, eight ounces would be plenty for both of them. His mouth watered as the blade split the skin on her leg for the first time. Blood poured out, soaking into the sheets and filling his senses with its coppery seduction. The flesh beneath shone out red and purple and succulent, and gave way easily before the tiny blade. He cut down and around the fibula, and began carving out the muscle and tendons between the fibula and the tibia. There were a couple of nasty pops as the tendons fell away and a spurt of warm, thick blood hit his plastic apron and dripped loudly onto the saturated sheet.

  "Please stop..." her voice faded in and out.

  "I'm almost done, my love," he said as he used the paring knife to scrape the last of the muscle from the exposed bone beneath it. It was challenging to be precise with the blood rushing to fill the area over and over again, but he had been here many times before. "There, all finished. Didn't hurt a bit, did it?" He stood up, smiling, and dropped both blades into a pan of acetone on the table. In his left hand he gingerly held a chunk of the girl's flesh, still warm. He could feel the blood seeping between the fingers of his glove.

  "I wanna go home..."

  "Get some sleep. I'll go prepare dinner."

  "I'm not hungry."

  "Oh yes you are, and you'll eat every bite or things are going to get harder for you," his voice took on a darker edge as he spoke.

  "I'm sorry..." she sobbed. Her eyes were glazed and falling closed, she looked lost and terrified. Her pain exhilarated him.

  He walked out of the room, and up the stairs into the kitchen, happy for the first time in days.

  Chapter 6: Contacts

  After sleeping for almost fifteen hours, I felt like a new man. I took a shower, ate a real breakfast, and smoked half a pack of cigarettes before I gave in and looked at my phone. It wasn't as bad as I expected. Yvette had called half a dozen times to yell at me. Rachel had called twice, maybe to do the same. D
avid had sent me a few texts filled with impolite language, letting me know that he had my "damn information" and that I had better call him ASAP.

  I also had some emails full of porn that I decided to save for later.

  David first.

  The phone rang until it went to voicemail, I hung up. Called again, voicemail again. Called again, "You shitbag, I'm not answering for a reason."

  "Oh hey, buddy."

  "I'm at a crime scene right now."

  "Ooh, something juicy?"

  "You have no idea."

  "Can you make it to lunch at one?"

  "Yeah. That place with the huge ass burritos."

  "Good choice."

  David hung up. I poured a fresh cup of coffee. The phone rang, a country song. Hank.

  "Hello."

  "So?" he asked, sounding breathless.

  "So what?"

  "I had to run out of a shoot to call you, I've got to get back."

  "Nothing. Again. She's a goddamn saint."

  A moment of silence. "Fine. You coming up today?"

  "Not today, I have some work to catch up on."

  "Later."

  Hank hung up. I took a drink of my coffee, lit a cigarette, and stared at Rachel's name on my contact list.

  "Be professional. Don't think about her lips." Great, I had resorted to talking to myself. "Don't think about her legs. No tits or ass. Just business." Yeah, that’s likely. I hit the green button next to her name.

  Same garbage music, then, "Hey, Gavin."

  Why did she have to keep saying my name? Didn't she know what that did to me?

  "Good morning, Rachel." Good. Short. Professional.

  "Any news?"

  "Not yet, I just saw that you called. I'm gonna go meet with my contact for lunch, find out what he came up with."

  Quiet. Then, a sigh. "All right."

  "I'll let you know whatever I turn up."

  "Thanks, Gavin."

  Again. I fought back the urge to ask what she was wearing, somehow.

  "No problem."

  I got to the restaurant before David, ordered two huge-ass burritos, and looked through the papers I had on Jennifer until he showed up. All the pictures and papers were the same, but I stared and flipped them over and over as if it might change something.

  "Oh good," David said as he sat across from me. "I love these things. Jesus, you should be glad you didn't see that mess at the scene. This chick was flayed, like to the bone, up and down her arms and legs. Her ass, and even her goddamn ribs. The geek on scene said she must have been alive for most of it."

  I pushed my plate away.

  "Not eating?" He shoved his fork through the burrito until green chilies oozed through the tortilla. He took a bite three times too large for his mouth. It made my stomach lurch.

  "Did you get everything I asked for?" I did my best not to stare at the food sloshing around in his open mouth.

  He chewed half a dozen times and swallowed hard. "Yeah, I brought it. It's all there in the original reports, though."

  "I figured that." Damn.

  "The dad's in prison, you know that?"

  "Yeah."

  "What are you gonna do?"

  "Go through the normal hoops, talk to the people on the list. Waste everyone's time."

  "Shitty. If you're not going to eat, do you mind if I split?"

  He packed both burritos in one Styrofoam take-out carton and I followed David out. We chatted while we had a smoke, and then I drove home. I needed to make some calls.

  "Hello, my name is Gavin English. I believe Rachel Davis may have told you I would be calling."

  "About Jennifer, right?"

  "That's right, can I speak with..."

  ..."James?"

  ..."Becky?"

  ..."Stephanie?"

  ..."Rick?"

  ..."Lucy?"

  "Sure, just a second. Lucy! Phone for you."

  Made sure I had the same list of questions ready to go for the umpteenth time.

  "Hi, hello?" She made wet chewing sounds and attempted to speak between bites. Absolutely awful.

  "Hi, Lucy?"

  "That's me."

  "My name is Gavin English. I need to ask you a few questions about your friend, Jennifer."

  She stopped chewing. "Oh. You're the guy Jenny's mom told us about. Have you heard anything yet?"

  "I'm afraid not, but I'm still considering a few things. I'm staying positive; you should too." Talking to teenage girls was my weak spot. I hated to hear them cry, and arguing or dealing with them angry made it worse. You never knew how it would go.

  "Yeah. I'm trying. I miss her."

  "Alright, Lucy, I have to start by asking if you have any idea where Jennifer might have been planning to go if she decided to run away."

  "No."

  "Honestly? You girls never talked about it? Lots of kids do."

  "No. We never did. After Denise took off... Well, we didn't want to do that to our friends, you know?"

  "Yeah, I get that." What?! "Lucy, who's Denise?"

  "She used to hang out with us, at school and stuff."

  "And she went missing? When was that?"

  "Last year. I think she went to her dad’s place."

  "Oh. You think she did, or you're sure she did?"

  "That's what her mom said. She said Denise had been threatening to go to him for a long time. The cops couldn't find him, they told her she was probably right."

  This bit of news did not improve my mood. They were probably right, it happened every day, but this is something Rachel should have told me.

  I ran through the gamut of generic missing persons questions with Lucy after that. Everything else went as routinely as possible: she named off her friends, talked about Jennifer's love life and grades, and cried a little when she admitted she didn't think Jennifer would run away.

  I did my best to comfort her, and got off the phone as quickly as possible. My battery was low, I needed a cigarette, and I desperately needed to figure out a nice way of telling Rachel that I hadn't found a thing.

  Phone went off, a text message from Hank. "Same time tonight."

  Chapter 7: The Bat, the Blue Label, and the Bell

  Etta James poured through my speakers when Crystal's Cadillac backed out of the driveway. I only waited a few seconds to give her a lead, and then drove onto the street. In the darkness I could just make out her rear license plate, "PANKY." I didn't need two guesses to figure out what his plate would say.

  The woman kept in good shape, and not by accident. She worked out hard and she worked out a lot. I'm not ashamed to admit that I've thought of more than a couple scenarios where I let her know that Hank sent me to follow her, and she rewards me in the best, dirtiest ways possible.

  As I tailed her through a few intersections, I guessed that we were heading to one of the gyms on the west side. The city was bursting with busy professionals who sneak their workouts in after hours.

  However, there's a certain street in Reno that runs under the freeway. There are professionals who work on that street after dark, but they don't do it in a gym. I almost didn't notice when I followed the Cadillac right onto that street. Almost. Then, a thousand bells went off in my booze-soaked mind. What the hell would she be doing around here?

  I had to drop back even more if I hoped to remain unnoticed with no traffic on this street at night aside from the occasional taxi or drunk driver sneaking home. When I could only see her taillights, I picked up speed. I watched as she turned into several parking lots, only to come right back out and continue down the street. She must have been looking for something specific, maybe someone uncircumcised. Or a midget. Or she could have been picking up people at each stop.

  Now that was an intriguing thought. If she was cheating, I couldn't see any reason not to try and get a little action myself. She might even be dirty enough for me to remember it the next day.

  I stopped once again as she pulled into another lot. One minute went by. Two. She didn't come
back out. I cruised up the road until I could see her Cadi. I parked across the street, shut off the lights, and got out my camera.

  Crystal stood next to her SUV, talking on the phone. I couldn't hear her side of the conversation, but she was animated and angry, waving her arms around and spitting while she talked. When she finished, she stuffed the phone back into the pocket of her fashionable, ass-shaping yoga pants, and opened the back door.

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  When she shut the door again she had a Louisville Slugger in her hand. For a second, I thought I had been made and that I might have to speed away with a crazed woman chasing me up the street. Then I saw something that made me laugh. A couple of spots down from her Cadillac I saw a huge pickup truck with a license plate that read, "HANKY." Thank you, Carrie Underwood, for inspiring pissed off women everywhere.

  The next five minutes were a blast. For me anyway; I'm pretty sure Hank's truck did not have fun. Crystal took that venerable slugger to the man's windshield and several of his windows. She broke the headlights and the taillights, and left a couple dozen good-sized dents and dings all over the truck's body. By the end of it, she was sweaty and smiling and I had at least thirty new pictures on my phone.

  I saved the pics and pulled up Hank's number in my address book.

  "What's up, Gavin?" he yelled over the sound of pumping hip hop music.

  "Have you talked to Crystal tonight?" I tried hard not to laugh as she climbed back into her SUV and drove off.

  Hank chuckled, "Yeah, she called a while ago bitchin’ about something or another. Why, what's up?"

  "I only asked because it looks like she's heading back home."

  "Nothing then?" I swear I heard disappointment and a stripper sweating.

  "She's clean, Hank."

  "Bull."

  Hank hung up and I put the phone in my pocket. I took another minute to enjoy the damage Crystal had left behind before turning the Jeep around and heading back to civilization. Before I reached the overpass, my phone rang.