Lustmord 1

by Kirk Alex

  Marvin said nothing. Did his work. Kept his head down. There was time’ it was the best thing to do, else he could find hisself in the ground wiff the stiff. Never can tell. Didn’t think Cecil would do him like that, him bein’ a big help to him. Never could tell, though; never was sure about it.

  What he gonna do wiffout me? Wiff that fucked up back and the ’roid burnin’ up his asshole? He best not try no shit. ’Cause if he do, I’m gone, me. Drop a dime on his crazy ass.

  CHAPTER 68

  Dione’s young husband continued to plead for his life. Cecil was, in fact, just a little weary of it. He stepped in front of the man and whipped him across the face with the .357 and watched Danny land on his side. Part of his upper lip and nose torn off by the blow. He was spitting blood and chipped teeth, coughing and sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Quit your fakin’, boy. Take it like a man. If the bitch wants to whimper, that’s a different story there. You’re supposed to be a man. Take it like a man. What did you expect? To live forever? No matter how much crack and weed you cocksuckers got off me it was never enough. Here’s where the party ends and the piper is paid. Get it, boy? So don’t whimper and don’t pray to god because ‘god’ won’t hear you and ‘He’ won’t save you.”

  Biggs paused to take another look down at what was going on with Muck. Aimed his Maglite at him. Free Ride had stopped digging and had stepped to the side of the hole, awaiting approval.

  “Looks deep enough from where I’m standing.”

  Biggs ordered the victim to sit up. Made certain that he still faced the gully. He stood directly behind Dione’s husband, held the muzzle at the base of his head, waited, turned to see if Dione was taking it in. He knew that she would be. His eyes were back on the Magnum. Lowered it. Returned to the Caddy to tape her mouth shut, then made it to the rear. Dug around under the blue tarp for a fourteen-by-fourteen-inch sheet of metal approximately one quarter inch thick with a sheet of plywood on either side glued to it. There was a bolt in each of the corners to further ensure that it all held together like it was supposed to under the most challenging circumstances. Biggs had painted red targets on both sides with a perfectly formed bull’s-eye in the center. If stopped and questioned, he was ready to claim the board had been created for shooting practice—which in fact it was, never mind that his idea of practice differed from other people’s—and the pocks in the wood, cracks and scars, would back it, or so he reasoned. And if it failed to convince the rollers? Too bad, because the board’s real purpose was that it made it easier to locate the slugs afterwards. Sometimes the slugs penetrated both wood and metal, not very often, sometimes, depended on the caliber used (as well as type of ammo).

  Whatever the result, whether the lead was retained, or ended up in the soil, it made it far easier to dig out when the shooting was over and spared him enough aggravation to make it worth the effort by making it a little more difficult for forensics to figure out what had caused what. Less evidence, that’s all; less to trace back to whoever did the deed.

  Nothing was ever one hundred percent foolproof, although precautions such as this did make it more of a task for those whose job it was to track down and hinder types like him from having their fun and living life the way they chose.

  He returned to where Danny waited, on his knees, facing the gully below. Blood and mucus oozed from his nose and mouth.

  Trusty the Clown smacked him against the back of the head with the heavy board and watched him tumble down toward the grave, where his upper half, conveniently enough, ended up.

  Biggs made his way down. Had Marvin turn the victim on his back. Told him to shove the rest of him in there. Handed him the bull’s-eye.

  “Prep him for his dirt nap.”

  Marvin placed the board directly under the victim’s head, and stepped away. Cecil O. looked back at the ridge. Told Marvin to get up there and drag the bitch out of the car and to make certain that she saw what was about to take place.

  “Toss one of those empty water jugs down while you’re up there.”

  Muck had a pretty good idea what that meant. Made him queasy in the belly. No pretending it didn’t.

  “Ho gonna freak. Gonna be hard to control later.”

  “Or she just might be easier to control later.”

  There was no recourse but to obey the order. Muck found the empty plastic jug inside the trunk and flung it down in Cecil’s general direction. Carried Dione Aragon out and lowered her close enough to the edge so that there was no doubt that she would be able to view the proceedings.

  Biggs knelt beside the male victim. Held the barrel near to his face, said nothing. Watched Danny Aragon’s lips tremble and twitch and the tears flow. There was something about the worthless punk a-hole that made Biggs want to savor every millisecond. Payback was sweet. Doing unto others was far sweeter than the FBI ever knew. All those experts who were convinced they had guys like him figured. They interviewed countless serial killers, or so they liked to claim . . . and knew exactly what made them tick. . . . What a laugh.

  He uncapped the jug. Had his switchblade out. Clicked the release mechanism. Shiny stainless steel blade and hilt. A marvel of German engineering, durable. He had smuggled it out from when he was stationed there and kept it over the years. Quality like this was something you cherished and wanted to hold on to, unlike that piece of crap of a knife made in Mexico that Ortiz liked to wave around in people’s faces to show what a badass he was.

  But that was Ortiz. He had some other punk here to deal with. To cut him in the neck would serve his purpose, so long as he did not go anywhere near the carotid artery. Slicing into the carotid would cause the victim’s blood to spray and the bag-of-manure to expire before he’d had a chance to nuke his brains while he was still breathing and aware of his surroundings. You always wanted them to be fully aware of what was going on before they “egressed.”

  Cecil cut into his neck, away from the crucial artery, and the blood flowed to the point he was able to capture enough of it via the plastic jug for his eventual purpose.

  Biggs recapped the jug and set it aside. He rose. Jammed earplugs in his ears. Aimed the Magnum at Danny Aragon’s face. The look of utter and absolutely paralyzing fear gave him wood. He was close to creaming in his pants from this alone. Wouldn’t allow it. Not now. Not here.

  He squeezed the trigger and watched as the back of the beaner’s skull exploded. Blowback was the icing on the cake: brains and blood, gristle and bone punched out both ears, nose, and mouth. Who could ask for more? The act had nearly caused him to climax. In fact, his groin had first begun to stir way back in the parking lot, while in the Caddy and the initial throes of violence, and gone down periodically; had risen a degree and also given up the battle.

  Presently what he had was a full blown erection. Let the profilers contemplate that one.

  Dione was groaning and carrying on up there at the top of the slope, calling Jesus’ name and moaning a muffled “NO!” over and over again through the duct tape. It may not have been original, but it was genuine. Seemed to mean every bit of it. Was rapidly working herself into a state of exhaustion, if she did not temper it some.

  Biggs yelled up at Marvin to come on down. Muck complied. Left her gasping there through the gag and twisting about on the ground, while he scrambled down to where the body was.

  “He dead. You gettin’ good at this.”

  “Yeah? He’s not dead enough.”

  Marvin got the point. Was about to lift the dead man’s head in order to retrieve the plywood square and take a look at the bull’s-eye to see how close Trusty Lusty had come this time, instead he knew enough to jump back.

  The bishop stood over Dione’s dead husband. Aimed the barrel low. Squeezed off a second shot, and watched the rest of the head disintegrate into so many bloody chunks of brain and matted hair.

  Biggs resumed standing in place. Needing to savor every detail. Memories were made of this. He took the plugs out of his ears.

  “He dead en
ough now? Yo.”

  “Get the board. Make sure both slugs were contained by it.”

  Marvin was about to wipe the mess off the board against the dead man’s clothing when Biggs stopped him in time.

  “Wood particles can be used as evidence later.”

  Biggs told him to take fifty steps or so and wipe the board against grass and dry leaves. Marvin did that and brought it back.

  “Bull’s-eye.”

  “Both?”

  “Can’t hardly tell. One for sure. Ain’t got all the mess off.”

  Biggs angled it for better viewing. Couldn’t tell where the other bullet had hit. Marvin was right: one bull’s-eye for certain. The other slug was iffy. Missed by two inches, in fact. Made him wonder if this was a bad omen. Never made him feel good to miscalculate by this much.

  “See it?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Biggs tossed him the key to the handcuffs. “Get the bracelets. Throw dirt on him.”

  Soon it was over with.

  “What chu want to do wiff the other plywood? The large one?”

  “Can’t very well take it with us in the Caddy. Drag it sixty feet out and leave it.”

  This was done.

  CHAPTER 69

  Biggs picked up the jug with the blood and they climbed to the top of the slope, where a terrified, hysterical Dione Aragon was on her side and appeared to be gagging on vomit.

  Biggs peeled the gag off. He took the plywood square with the bull’s-eye, did some more swiping of it against the ground. Saw to it that it was free and clear of blood and hair, brains and bone fragments belonging to Danny Aragon. Did his best under the circumstances. Further cleansing would take place later.

  He sprayed the board with enzyme and poured rubbing alcohol over both sides and slid it under the blue tarp in the trunk, under the metal chest.

  “She’s choking on puke. I don’t want it on my interior.”

  Dione was clearly gagging, in that vomit emanated from her mouth and nasal passages.

  “What chu be sayin’?”

  “I’m saying she better not expire.”

  “What do I do? I don’t want barf on me.”

  Biggs walked back to where the woman was sitting on the ground, head bent over, heaving, choking on chunks. He gave her back several whacks with an open palm. It helped, but not in any significant way.

  “Blow your nose. Blow it. Blow your nose, cunt, before I blow your brains out.”

  Vomit oozed from her nostrils. She made the effort as ordered. Cleared the nasal passages to some small degree.

  “Get your fingers in there and unclog her throat.”

  Marvin hadn’t cared for the idea.

  “Do it now.”

  The woman continued to choke, gasping. Mucus and vomit dripped from nose and mouth. Finally Marvin did as ordered. Didn’t want to see the ho suffer. He’d wanted to rape them all, but no way did he like seein’ this kind of shit go down. Rape never hurt no ho. Beatin’ on ’em and killin’ ’em did nobody no good.

  He stuck a couple of his long, bony fingers inside her mouth and cleared the blockage. Got the vomit out of there, possibly skinned a knuckle on her teeth.

  Biggs held out the box of Kleenex for him. Watched as Marvin yanked a handful to wipe her mouth and chin with. Wiped his fingers free of blood and whatnot, snot and vomit, while he was at it.

  “What I don’t be doin’ for the Church of Retard and Dope’.”

  “That’s good enough. Shit costs money.”

  “Yo. Everything be costin’ coin’ these day’.”

  Marvin was about to toss the used tissues when Biggs stopped him from doing this as well. Had a plastic trash bag open and waiting for the refuse. Muck dropped it in.

  Biggs uncapped the jug with the tap water and poured it over the gasping, convulsing victim’s face. Muck was grousing about something again.

  “What now?”

  “You givin’ her tap water?”

  “Beats barf, don’t it?”

  “She don’t be good enough for Hawaiian Punch?”

  Biggs said nothing. Poured the water.

  “Surprised you ain’t give her the blood in the jug.”

  “I would, except there isn’t enough to go around. I have better use for her hubby’s plasma.” Biggs saw to it that some of the water reached her mouth. A coughing seizure appeared to overtake her.

  “Quit your fakin’, cunt.”

  He slapped her across the face a couple of times. They were moderately hard slaps to get her to settle down. He had Marvin pick her up in his arms and carry her back to the Cadillac and dump her in the backseat. Biggs unsnapped the strap on the black medical bag. Dug around in there until he found what he wanted: dark wig, lipstick, blush-on, black eyeliner; container of Tylenol.

  He shoved three rapid release gels in her mouth. Poured tap water down her throat to help chase the gels down. He recapped the container and returned it to the black medical bag.

  “Aspirin? You givin’ the ho aspirin? Ho got both: head and eye fucked up and you be givin’ her aspirin?”

  “It’s Tylenol, dummy. Extra-strength. Unless you’re willing to take her place, I suggest you stop running your mouth.”

  CHAPTER 70

  Biggs applied the cherry red lipstick to her mouth, blush-on to her cheeks, eyeliner to the good eye. Affixed the wig over her bloody blond locks and he was good to go. Clown climbed on board and ripped her clothes off. What he couldn’t tear with his bare hands he cut away with his switchblade.

  “Like Ecstasy, bitch? I’ve got your Ecstasy right here.”

  He had his fly unzipped and his stiffening tool in his right hand. “Do you know how much I spent on that shit? Do you have any idea? Did you give a fuck? Hell, no. You didn’t. But you will. You better be good.”

  He slid his hand between her moist thighs. Handed Marvin the Maglite.

  “Shine it on her cunt.”

  Marvin did that. He liked what he was seeing and wanted in on the action.

  “When do I get me some, Dawg?”

  “Shut up.” Biggs noticed it. “She pissed her panties. Another one. Lookit all that urine on my upholstery. This is a new Cadillac, bitch.” Suddenly he found himself not minding. “That’s all right. I like it.”

  “Coulda been worse.” Marvin rubbed himself inside his trousers as he spoke. “She coulda shit all over the new Caddy seat.”

  “Forget it. Nothing the matter with a little urine between friends.”

  “Easy for you to say. ’Cause Marvin here be the clean-up nigga.”

  Biggs parted the woman’s legs and slipped his groin inside and began stroking.

  “I was beginning to wonder if it was all worth it, taking a crazy chance like that in McCoy’s parking lot. Sometimes you just have to do what you have to do.”

  “That be right.” Marvin was muttering to himself; he was nodding his head and muttering. Had his member out and was full-on masturbating. “Man got to do what he got to do.”

  “Yeah, Dolly.”

  Biggs stroked. Held her tighter. Dug his hands under her buttocks and held her up, toward him, pressing her pelvis against his this way. He probed with his middle finger. Found her rectum and slid it in. Followed up with a second finger inside her anus. It was dry going. Uncapped the jug with the blood. Stuck his fingers inside the spout and turned the jug over so that enough of the red stuff covered his fingers. Lowered the jug and reinserted the same fingers inside her. The lubing effort was not necessarily for her benefit, but his. A smooth ride was far more preferable than a dry hump.

  He withdrew his groin from her vagina and slid it inside her butt crack. He stayed with it for another two minutes or so. Stroked. Felt the explosion nearing and paused long enough to postpone it. Didn’t want to blow his load just yet. Resumed stroking for a while longer. Warned her to get ready to suck the poison out of him.

  “Get ready to suck the meds out, bitch. All that shit they put in me over the years—all those toxins they pumped
into me that only managed to exacerbate my condition.”

  Trusty withdrew from her rectum, and shoved his cock deep inside her mouth and unloaded with a gasp. Held on tight until he was completely spent, and got up.

  CHAPTER 71

  Outside the Caddy, Marvin was finishing up himself. Pushed his groin back inside his baggy jeans and zipped up.

  “That’s enough for the time being.” Clown wiped his brow. “Whew. All right. There’s more where that came from. Plenty more. We’ve got to get you back to the house. Yeah. You’ll do just fine, as long as you don’t go passing out on me all the time—because then we’ll just have to dispose of you like your old man. Got it? Stay alert and healthy for ol’ Trusty.”

  Biggs was out of the backseat, zipping up and getting behind the steering wheel.

  “How about some for me?”

  “Later. There better not be any of your sperm on my rear bumper, Marvin. That’s all I’ve got to say about that.” Biggs started the Caddy engine. “I want to get back before dawn. Get her into the chest.”

  Marvin cursed. Pulled the girl out of the backseat and yanked her by the arm toward the trunk. Had the trunk open, and was lifting the suitcase-shaped, metal chest out and placing it on the ground. Biggs noticed it from where he sat, and thought: What the fuck? He hopped out. Stopped Muck from creating twice the work and taking twice the time.

  “No. Leave the fucking chest in the trunk, and then force the henpecker in there. Less lifting, less effort.”

  “If you say so.”

  The chest was tossed back in by the sidekick. There he was trying to get the victim to stand in it, or whatever it was he was attempting that galled Biggs further. He shoved Muck out of the way, grabbed the female by the neck and pushed her down into the suitcase. Forced her in, on her side, into something resembling the fetal position. He tried closing the lid and could not quite manage. Parts of her prevented it. Shoulder and head, in the hip area. He punched away until he had that problem solved.