by Hadena James
“That is very specific,” Lucas said.
“I have one body without nipples,” Fiona answered. “Found four weeks ago in an alley behind an abandoned building, only other injury is a broken neck.”
“Is it a broken spine or a crushed hyoid?” Xavier went over to her computer.
“I don’t do pictures,” she answered, stepping away from the laptop. Xavier hit a few keys and then sat back in the chair folding his arms behind his head. He gave a very low whistle.
“Well?” Gabriel asked.
“Her spine was snapped where it enters her skull,” Xavier answered. “It’s a hard injury to create. Flesh shows severe bruising and thumb marks.”
“Impressive.” Lucas said.
“Impossible.” I told him. “You can’t snap a neck with your thumbs. Your hands would have to be massive with impossible grip strength.”
“Actually, if you don’t mind playing victim, I’ll show you how it can be done.” Xavier looked at me.
“Sure,” I shrugged.
“Lucas, stand behind Aislinn, wrap your fingers around her neck and then make sure you place your thumbs just below her skull on her spine. Apply a little pressure, but carefully.” Xavier stood up and watched.
Lucas’s fingers were warm as they wrapped around my neck. They were calloused where he worked out and spent time at the firing range. His hands were large enough that he was able to lace his fingers together as well as overlap his thumbs. He squeezed very gently. There was pressure, but it wasn’t concentrated enough to break my spine. I gave Xavier a doubtful look. Lucas moved his hands just a little and changed the position of his thumbs. They lay side by side on the back of my neck, touching as they ran parallel to my spine. This time, when he squeezed, my head was forced forward. I waved a hand. It could be done by Lucas.
“Lucas could do it. How many bodybuilders in the city?” Gabriel asked.
I rubbed my neck where his fingers had been. “Body builder not needed, just a large psychopath. Malachi would have the hands to do it.” Malachi wasn’t impressively built. He had muscles, but he was somewhat thin and looked rather harmless. Of course, Malachi was a full blown psychopath without the ability to feel pain, which gave him more strength than a dragon. “We are looking for a guy with broken thumbs.”
“Think he broke his thumbs?” Xavier asked.
“Yeah,” I looked at Lucas. “Lucas has the hand size and the grip, but he would stop when he started to hurt himself. Malachi has the hand size and he wouldn’t feel the pain, so he would probably break his thumbs as well as the spine. Do we have a description to go with the nipple remover?”
“Large white male, mid-thirties, blond hair, blue eyes, looks normal,” Fiona told me. We all looked at Lucas. He fit the description.
“With broken thumbs,” Lucas added. “Anything on the vehicle?”
“Blue Chevy Nova,” Fiona offered.
“I would never drive a Nova. I’d have to rip out the passenger’s seat and make it a center drive car,” Lucas said. Xavier giggled and I smiled, thinking back to the scene in Police Academy where Hightower tears out the front seats to learn to drive.
“This is like searching for a needle in a haystack,” Gabriel said.
“Found him!” Fiona chirped from her computer. “There’s a blue Chevy Nova registered to a George Gooder. He’s six feet, seven inches tall and three-hundred and fifty-two pounds. A quick search of medical records shows that he went to the ER three weeks ago for a thumb that wouldn’t heal. He works for a company as a server manager.”
“Can we make a case for a serial crime?” Gabriel asked.
“We can if the women who lost their nipples are willing to testify,” I answered. “As Lucas said, that’s a very specific fetish.”
“Fiona, keep digging on him. When you’ve exhausted every area of his life, search for other crimes that have similar signatures.” Gabriel looked at the rest of us. “All right, pack your gear, he’s a big boy, you might need it.”
“Regulators, mount up!” I headed for the door.
“Did she just quote from a rap song or an old movie?” Xavier asked.
“I actually liked Young Guns as well as the song Regulators by Warren G. I’m a child of the 1980s and ‘90s. I couldn’t block out everything. I also like the movie The Breakfast Club.” I shocked them all.
“Is anyone else freaked out that Ace once listened to gangster rap?” Xavier asked.
“Aislinn has always lived a violent life, so no, I’m not. I can see why it appealed to her,” Lucas said.
“I liked that one song,” I scolded them. “It was their voices and the melody, not the words and significance. It’s the same reason my mom listens to German rock. She doesn’t care about the lyrics. She cares about the harmony.”
“Still freaked out,” Xavier told me. I shook my head at him. I was pretty sure he had once liked disco, but I didn’t tease him about it. It might have to become a spot to needle though if he didn’t shut up about my experience with music.
George Gooder
George had always liked nipples. They came in all shapes, sizes, and colors. He was collecting them. His favorites were medium sized and dark in color.
It had started in his childhood. He didn’t know where his fascination came from. He could remember standing in front of the mirror, staring at his own nipples for hours as they contracted and eased due to temperature changes and stimuli.
As a teenager, he had discovered girl nipples were a lot more varied than guy nipples. All guy nipples were of smallish size, like buttons. Girl nipples were big, small, long, dark, light, veiny, even hairy, and some were more sensitive than others were. They were far more interesting than guy nipples.
At twenty-six, he had accidentally bitten off the nipple of a prostitute. She hadn’t felt it. That’s when he’d discovered that sensitivity was different between nipples. It was also when he learned how much mutilating nipples excited him.
He stared at his reflection. His perfect, bare chest excited him too. The scars where his nipples had once been were shiny, flat, and paler than the rest of his skin. He had put his own nipples in his collection a few years earlier. The collection lined his wall, encased in clear rubber cubes. The rubber kept them from decomposing.
In the other room, the cries from his newest victim could be heard. So far, he had only tied her up and gagged her. Yet, her cries were persistent and grating.
George gave up staring at his own reflection. He had a new toy to play with. His victim was a lovely young girl of about sixteen. She had been on the streets for a while now. He had seen her several times. This was the first time he had dared to pick her up. Using scissors, he cut open her flimsy blouse that was much too thin for a spring night in Detroit. Her bra was lacy, pink and pushed her still developing breasts upwards, creating the illusion of cleavage. However, he had no interest in her or her perky breasts. Still using the scissors, he cut the front of the bra, exposing her.
He had been waiting for this moment. He could guess and fantasize all he wanted, but actually seeing the nipples that were about to be his created a feeling of euphoria. They were never what he expected. They were always better. Hers were small and dark, with distinctive veins that showed through the areola. A cluster of dark hairs on her breast, around the areola, had been trimmed to stubble. He liked the hair, but he couldn’t keep that flesh.
George ejaculated just looking at the girl, his excitement and euphoria bringing him to climax before he had gotten started on the collection process. That was unusual for him.
It was decision time. He could kill her now and then take her nipples or take her nipples and then kill her. He didn’t want her. She was of no value or use. He didn’t get erections during intercourse and if he did somehow manage, he wouldn’t keep it.
He looked at her. Tears ran down her face, creating streaks of black from her mascara that was no doubt waterproof, but couldn’t stand up to the salty stream that flowed from her eyes. Her pupils w
ere fully dilated despite the room having plenty of light. A tremor ran through her entire body. George felt sorry for her, for what would come next. Those that refused to admit they had been defeated, George liked to keep alive. This poor wretch wasn’t one of those. She knew she was a goner.
George raised the scissors, opening them as he did so. He held them for a moment, and then sliced the girl’s neck. Blood sprayed out, coating the room and George. He didn’t care about it though. It would wash off. He whispered reassuring things to her about her place in heaven as she bled out. It took less than a minute.
Once she was dead, George grabbed an Exacto-knife and began removing the areola with surgical precision. There was a lot of tissue, muscle, fat, veins, and other things to cut through. The work required determination not to blemish the beautiful flesh that he craved.
It took a painstaking twenty minutes to remove the nipples. Next, he washed them carefully in the sink and took great pains to dry them completely. Then he mixed up a batch of silicon rubber. He filled the cube molds with the rubber. While it was still warm, he inserted the extracted body part with a pair of tweezers. The molds set on a cold metal tray and the bottom hardened faster than the top. He was able to remove the tweezers without damaging the shape of the cube.
His newest cubes were left to cure while he went and took a shower.
Thirteen
On the ride over to George Gooder’s house, I figured out it was a Sunday morning. We passed a large Catholic church that had lots of people going indoors. The sign proclaimed that they held services every three hours on Sunday.
My father had been a lapsed Catholic. My mother had been a lapsed Baptist. I’d been baptized in both religions and was pretty sure I still wasn’t going to be welcomed by St. Peter at the Gates of Heaven. Of course, I might not be welcomed into the rings of Hell either. Satan may open the gates and set his Hellhounds upon me if I stepped foot on the road paved with good intentions.
Fiona had called Gabriel to let him know she had found a second dead victim. The spine wasn’t as cleanly broken, but the victim was missing her nipples. The body had been found two weeks ago.
George Gooder’s house was small and anonymous. The siding was a pale blue with white shutters. An older Chevy Nova in crappy condition sat on the driveway because there wasn’t a garage. His yard had a single tree in it. It wasn’t a terrible house, but it also wasn’t great. It blended in with all the other houses on the block. They all looked forlorn.
We drove down the street and parked on a side street. Gabriel and Xavier began walking through the backyards. Lucas and I walked down the sidewalk. Neither of us had drawn our gun. It was still early. There weren’t any people moving about on the street and only a few houses showed any signs of life.
“You kick, I go in?” I whispered.
“We could try something novel and knock,” Lucas whispered back.
“Okay, we’ll try that,” I told him. “You knock, I’ll shoot him in the knees if he resists.”
“Use your baton, it’s less noisy,” Lucas told me.
I nodded as we turned and started up the walkway. To others, I imagined we looked very strange. We were wearing our Marshals jackets, but we still looked like Laurel and Hardy.
Lucas knocked loudly on the door. His knuckles rapped against the wood hard enough to make it shake in its frame. Neither of us had pulled guns. We were attempting to be non-threatening.
After a second knock, a naked man opened the door. He fit the description of George Gooder. He was heavy set with blond hair, blue eyes and short legs with a long torso. When he bent over, people got a good view of his crack unless he was nice enough to buy long-tail shirts, but since he had opened the door naked, I doubted he was that nice.
Lucas smiled. I frowned.
“Mr. George Gooder?” I asked, showing my badge.
“Yes,” he rubbed at his eyes, trying to get them to focus on my credentials.
“US Marshals Service, we have a few questions.” I started towards the door. He didn’t move. “May we come in?”
“No, what’s this about?” He was bulling up, puffing his chest out, and trying to make himself taller. Most men reacted aggressively towards me. However, psychopaths would go from bulling up to full-blown crazy mode in a blink of the eye. I spread my feet just a little, steeling myself in case he charged out the door at me.
“We just have a few questions about your Chevy Nova.” Lucas attempted to sound soothing. “It’s been spotted in an area that is known for prostitution. We just want to talk to you about whether you were driving or if you had loaned it to someone.”
“Come back when you have a warrant.” He slammed the door in our faces.
“Well, we knocked.” I looked at Lucas. “But his dumb ass didn’t lock the door behind him.” I turned the knob and pushed the door open, Taser in hand.
“What the hell!” George Gooder turned around to face us.
“We still have questions, Mr. Gooder,” I informed him.
“Get out of my house!” He shouted at us. He wasn’t armed and I couldn’t Taser him for raising his voice or being naked.
“No,” I answered. “Serial Crimes Tracking Unit, we have some questions for you. If you answer them, we’ll go away. Otherwise, we’ll search the house. Do you have anything you don’t want us to know about?” I looked around the living room. “Like a nipple necklace,” I muttered softly.
George Gooder didn’t charge me, he charged Lucas. The two men began to struggle. Lucas was in much better physical shape, but he wasn’t one hundred percent yet. It showed in his movements and on his face. We all ignored this. I once again found myself with a problem. I couldn’t Taser him and I couldn’t shoot him. Lucas grunted as they went to the floor. I also couldn’t use the baton. I might hit Lucas if they rolled.
I grabbed my steel handcuffs and when George drew back to punch Lucas, I slipped it around his wrist. The other was attached to my own and the momentum of George’s punch nearly brought me off my feet. I managed to pull back at the last second and we both rocked backwards, the blow not landing on Lucas’s face.
George’s surprise at my move gave me an advantage. I took it, pulling myself into him using his arm. I punched him in the face with my free hand. It landed just below his eye. A bone cracked in my hand. I wanted to swear, but I didn’t. Instead, I brought my elbow up and landed a blow on his chin. George shouted at me and I knew I had made a serious mistake.
He stood up, jerking me with him. His height gave him the advantage as my feet dangled from the hyperextended arm attached to the raging psychopath. I kicked and landed only a glancing blow on his knee. He drew back and punched me in the face while he yanked his other arm around.
Lucas slammed into him and we all went to the ground with me on the bottom. Both my arms were pinned beneath the combined weight of the giant men. My shoulder gave a pop and my hand started to tingle. George grinned at me, an erection pushing against my leg. I head butted him and felt his teeth sink into the skin of my forehead. Blood washed over my face. Then we were both jerked again. This time, I was pulled up as George was pulled backwards.
Lucas wasn’t winning the fight any more than I was. We were just giving each other minor opportunities to fight for survival.
“You guys good?” Gabriel asked.
“No,” I shouted, my hand fumbling at my waist. “But we will be in about ten seconds.” I grabbed the Taser, ejected the unused cartridge and placed the cathodes against George’s belly fat. I pulled the trigger. Electricity sparked across the handcuffs, making my wrist burn and my arm muscles twitch. Lucas grunted and I was suddenly buried under dead weight.
My diaphragm didn’t have room or strength to open and I gasped for air. The room started to darken. I was going to suffocate. I tried to yell and managed to let out a mere squeak. With my arm still attached to George, I couldn’t even crawl out from under them. I wiggled, trying to clear my chest of the weight. A few inches were all I managed. The tunnel vi
sion was getting worse. My gasping was getting weaker.
“Jesus Christ!” Xavier shouted. I tried to look at him, but my eyes couldn’t find him. There was movement above me. “Gabriel, we need help!” Xavier shouted.
I gasped again, my lungs desperate for air that it couldn’t get. My chest hurt. My diaphragm struggled to inflate. Another gasp, this one weaker, I could hear myself suffocating.
More movement, this time it wasn’t above me. Someone grabbed my shoulders and yanked. My shoulder shot pain throughout my entire upper body. They tugged again. I didn’t have the air to protest, but the pain chased away the tunnel vision. I was going to be fully conscious as I suffocated, which sucked even worse. Another tug, my coat tore. A second pair of hands grabbed hold of me.
I could breathe. My lungs fully inflated and I let out a scream I hadn’t known was going to happen. As the sound faded, my lungs took in another great breath.
“Ace, talk to me,” Xavier said.
“I hate you,” I told him. “My shoulder is dislocated.”
“But you can breathe?” He asked.
“If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t have screamed,” I snipped at him.
Lucas groaned and his body thudded as it hit the floor. I wanted to kick him, but my legs were still under George to some degree. My body was at an awkward angle.
“Get him off of me, but carefully. I’m handcuffed to him,” I informed them. George suddenly stood up. I was off the floor again. He’d gone from being out cold to being wide awake. He growled at me and bared his teeth. They gnashed together with a stomach curdling clicking noise. “Shoot him!” I shouted to someone. My body was wracked with pain, but survival mode was kicking in and it was fading.
Xavier rushed him. He swatted the smaller man away, knocking him against the entertainment system. A flat screen TV wobbled and then crashed down on Xavier’s head. I was too far away to hit him with the Taser again and I couldn’t put a cartridge in for long distance. I dropped the useless weapon and grabbed the baton. It extended and there was a loud click as it locked into place. I swung with as much motion as I could muster and hit him in the ribs. He grunted, but continued to keep me at arm’s length, dangling above the floor. I swung again, this time hitting the arm that held me. There was a cracking noise and my feet hit the floor hard enough to send shock waves up my legs.
