by David Wiltse
"Tacky. The word is 'tacky."
"
"Tacky. Yes. So tacky… Do you agree? Do you like such a place?"
"I'll go anywhere to be with you," he said.
"Oh, you are so sweet. Ven I first met you, I did not know how sweet you are."
"You couldn't tell by looking at me?"
She shook her head, taking him seriously. "You do not look sweet. You look..
"Tacky?"
"Now you are joking. You are funny, too. You also don't look funny ven first I see you… I said that wrong. You also did not look funny ven first I saw you. Is that right? I "Your English is teffific," he said. He lay on his back, studying the ceiling as long as she lay beside him, careful to keep his eyes on her face when she lifted herself on an elbow to look at him. The trick was to give the victims just enough response so that they thought he was actually participating in a conversation. It helped to shorten the process if most of his comments were compliments, it brought their attention back to sex sooner. They all seemed to need this pretense of their having a "relationship." It usually came, as it had with Inge, the second or third time they were together. They liked to believe that they saw qualities in his soul that drew them together, and that he responded to them in the same way. Even the young ones wanted to think it was meaningful in some particularly feminine way. For his part, he thought the sex was meaningful enough. It helped if they weren't shrews, but it didn't really matter too much. He could tolerate a couple of hours with any woman, even a harpy, as long as a good portion of the time was spent in sexual activity. He had known some harpies who were rather good at it, as a matter of fact. They converted their innate anger into a kind of physical restlessness that was quite arousing. Conversation with some of the older ones could be amusing.
They liked to gossip about people he knew in the community, and often they said things about other women that he could use later. Inge herself had come to him from one such referral, when another lover had mentioned lnge's employer and then Inge, saying the young all pair seemed lonely. It was enough to make him aware of her, enough to keep her in his mind so that when the opportunity arose he was prepared.
Inge leaned over him now, her breasts dangling 'Onto his naked chest, her heavy blond hair falling around his face like sunshine.
"You are so quiet," she said. "What are you thinking about?"
He realized he had tuned out for a moment. "I was thinking about you," he said.
"What vere you thinking about me?" She smiled, timidly, hoping.
So pathetic, he thought. Why are they all so needy of sweet talk?
"I was thinking how happy it makes me to be with you," he said. He put his arms around her, his hands in the small of her back.
"Yes? Truly? I make you happy?"
He lowered his voice and looked directly in her eyes. "You make me very happy. I need you in my life."
She was moaning as she kissed him. She lifted his hand to her mouth, sucked on his fingers as she rolled her eyes toward him.
He smiled at her, then slowly let his eyelids fall as if sliding into ecstasy. He made a small groan, encouraging her to continue. He liked it when the victims were aggressive-up to a point. At the end, he was in control. It was better for both of them. They sometimes wanted him to lose himself completely, to abandon self-mastery and technique and give himself to them in a rush of desire. Some of them thought that being wanted that much would give them power over him, and that that would be better than letting him bring them again and again to the heights of their pleasure, but he knew better, he understood that while they could satisfy him, only he could satisfy both of them. Inge licked the skin where his fingers connected and Captain Luv was surprised at the strength of his reaction. He took a mental note to use it sometime.
It puzzled him how someone as young as Inge knew about sensual pleasures that he had not yet discovered.
She moved farther down his body, working on him with her tongue, teasing and licking between his legs. He made his breathing louder so she would be encouraged to continue, and thought about his problems with the bodies. The discovery of the burial site was troublesome. There was nothing to connect it to him, he was sure of it, and it had been just bad luck, not poor planning. No one could anticipate a fluke of nature-the river had never been that high in human memory.
She took him in her mouth, groaning loudly with pleasure. This time when she rolled her eyes at him, he lay as if happily dreaming, eyes closed, head tilted to one side, panting shallowly through his mouth.
Inge could not smile with her lips, but in her heart she beamed.
Afterwards, she felt him shiver as he lay next to her. She knew he was still thrilling to her, she had never known a man so responsive, so open and vulnerable. He had such power, such authority-and yet he was so sweet. Inge knew she was a lucky girl to have him. She had forgotten her first impression of his appearance; to her he was now the strongest and most handsome of men.
He let out an enormous sigh.
"It is called le petit mort, " she said. He did not respond; his eyes were still closed, but she knew he wasn't sleeping. She assumed he did not hear her.
"Ze French, zey call it le petit mort. What you are feeling now. Ze little death."
"Death?" he repeated, sounding baffled. As she looked at him he opened his eyes and for a second she felt he did not know where he was. Then he came to himself and grinned at her. "Death, huh? If that was the little death, what do you suppose the big death is like? You want to try for that?"
Inge didn't know what he meant, but she smiled at him. It made her happy to see him grin.
The mania had come upon him as he was in the throes of his climax, surprising him by its timing, giving him no chance to act. He trembled with the strength of it, its urgent demand shaking him to his core. He waited for the climax to pass, half expecting the mania to expire with it, half hoping it would not. But the mania gripped him even more strongly just as his body yearned to succumb to postorgasmic lethargy.
He felt it in his stomach, a palpable presence, spreading to his chest like a huge and growing, living vacuum, an expanding emptiness within that cried out to be filled. There was only one way to fill the emptiness, only one way to make himself whole again. Some portion of his soul resisted, briefly, but was overcome, and with a letting go that felt as if his heart were screaming with relief he gave way to the mania, let it take him and do with him what it would. As he shivered next to her, his entire being was filled with a rage to serve the mania, all except that portion of his brain which never, ever shut down, never, ever gave over control to anything. That portion of his brain watched carefully, warned him of dangers, advised about fingerprints and blood samples and semen specimens, kept an eye on the time, listened for anyone outside, protected him. The rest of him was pure Captain Luv, Captain Luvvv at his ultimate worst-or best.
Here come Captain Luvvv, he exulted to himself, struggling to keep the laugh from bubbling through his lips. He gwine operate on you, girl.
She had said something about death and he chortled deep within himself.
Now you're talking.
"There's something I have to do," he said, suddenly getting to his knees on the bed.
She thought he meant he had to leave, and her heart sank.
"Not yet," she said.
"You can help me," he said.
Inge looked at him kneeling over her, naked, enormously erect, like a god of virility. His chest was broad and hairy, his thighs thick and powerful. And his cock was still so large it looked as if it must be painful, it looked as if it would rip the condom apart. She did not understand how it could still be that way after just making love to her.
He grinned at her, amused at her astonishment.
"Not done yet," he said. "Will you help me, my sweet?"
Of course she would help him, she would do anything for him right now.
He placed her on her hands and knees on the bed and entered her from behind. She gasped and then wr
iggled against him. "You make me crazy," she said.
"Listen, there's a thing lions do when they mate. You know how they bite the female's neck to control them? You've probably seen cats do it too."
She turned her head, trying to see his face, not sure what he was saying.
"I want to do that while I love you," he said. His voice was soft and supplicating. "Will you let me do that?" Inge still did not completely understand.
"You vish to bite me? Of course."
"Not bite you," he said. He leaned across her back and placed his hand on her neck. "Just squeeze a little. Will you let me do that? Can I do that to you, my sweet?" He rocked his body against her as his fingers found the steady pulse of her carotid artery. His grip tightened slightly on her neck.
"Of course," she repeated. "It won't hurt, I promise. It will just feel tight, but don't struggle, don't fight, just let me do it, I need to do it, it makes me feel so good."
He increased the pressure of his fingers at the same time as he hastened his rhythm. Inge moaned and gasped aloud with each thrust. She barely noticed the fingers on her neck at first. It was only as his pace became frantic and she could hear him growling deep in his throat that the pressure began to be painful.
"It hurts," she said, trying to twist away. He held her even tighter, his fingertips pressing into her flesh.
"Please," he gasped. "Please, let me do it, just a minute more… oooohhhh… for me, I need to… ohhh… for me."
Inge felt his sexual frenzy and thrilled to it. It made her feel powerful and wanted and the discomfort was something she could bear a bit longer for his sake. He was panting louder and louder, emitting little cries with each thrust, it had to happen very soon. His grip on her neck was very tight now and she began to feel faint.
"Hold on," he panted frantically. "Almost, almost, almost…" Inge fell facedown on the bed, her body pulling away from his. Still gripping her neck, he scrambled frantically to reenter her and gave his last few convulsive thrusts into her inert body before collapsing atop her, shivering. His breath was loud and torturous for a few moments as he tried to recover from the exertion; then it turned to gasps of laughter. He lay on her for several minutes, trembling with laughter, his breath stirring the golden hair across her back. The tiny motel room, so accustomed to the noises of carnal pleasure, filled with the sounds of a madhouse.
When he came to himself again, her body had already begun to cool, taking on the eerie pallor of the dead. He released his grip from her neck at last and probed with sensitive fingers for any trace of pulse.
It was a formality.
There was a look to the dead that any layman could detect an unmistakable otherness never seen in life that was instantly recognizable.
"Luvvv, oh Luvv, oh careless Luvvv," he sang, rising finally from her body and putting on his shirt. "Luvvv, what has you done to me?"
Even the portion of his brain that never lost itself could not say if the mania still held sway, or if this was just himself who felt so buoyant, so cheerful. The great aching need was gone, vanished when she pitched forward onto the bed, her brain starved for oxygen, but this mood, this tittering, self-satisfied feeling of accomplishment still lived within the aura of the madness. It was like the taste and scent of a woman that sometimes lingered with him long after he had left her, keeping her presence a part of his life for some time afterwards. The excitement of the mania was still in the room now, confusing him as to whether the mania itself was still there, or if he was operating on his own.
"Ooohhh, Captain Luvvv gwine operate. Cap'n Luv's a cut-up. "
He flushed the condom down the drain, watching carefully to see it swirl into oblivion. He would check again later to be sure it did not float back up. It never had, but it paid to take the pains. He then dressed himself completely and stepped outside to his car. In the trunk he selected what he needed-his implement, his change of clothing, his gloves, the gray-green trash bags. Back in the motel room, he undressed and dressed again, neatly stacking his regular clothes far away from the corpse. The room was scarcely larger than the bed itself and it was a matter of only a few steps to lift lnge's body and carry it to the shower. He lifted carefully, using his legs. His back had bothered him lately and it would not do to have it go into spasm while he was dissecting a corpse in a motel room. Very hard to explain that, he thought, sniggering. Someone bound to misinterpret that. It wouldn't do to tell them that Luvvv luved Inge to death.
He turned the shower on to a slow stream, adjusted the temperature, and let it play on Inge's body while he went to the front door to check that he had locked it and put on the chain. He had, of course. It was not the sort of mistake he made. He looked in the.toilet once more, then stepped into the shower himself. This motel had free samples of shampoo encased in a styrene container-sometimes there was nothing but a bar of soap. He opened the shampoo container and started to shampoo Inge's head. Hair was amazingly retentive, all sorts of evidence could adhere to it, bodily secretions, fibers of his clothing, even his own pubic hairs. Luv scrubbed her hair thoroughly, then did the same with her genital region, where the hair was even more retentive.
The cleaning done, he sat on the floor of the shower and pulled Inge's body against him, back to front.
It was not much of a work area, he would have preferred a bathtub, but what could you expect for thirty dollars? The shower trickled down on both of them, washing Inge's fluids down the drain. Since her heart was not pumping, there was no danger of anything spurting; gravity and the shower would take care of the mess, there would be very little to clean up afterwards. He peeked through the shower curtain, checking his watch, which he had put on the linoleum floor. He had more than an hour until checkout. Plenty of time, no need to rush. He would have to come up with a new burial site now, of course, but he could think about that while he worked. Taking the cutting implement in his gloved fingers, he cradled her body to his and began to cut her into manageable pieces.
As he worked, he sang softly to himself. "Luvvv is all around you, don't be blind, he's every-where!"
6
Karen walked into the little spare bedroom they had dubbed their study, where Becker was tapping keys on the computer. Their small machine was hooked up via modern to the Bureau system, allowing Karen, as an associate dep duty director, to conduct work from her home office. It was not a privilege allowed to most field agents because of the potential breach of secrecy if too many agents had access to the main terminal, but Karen was not most agents.
Becker turned to look at her as she came up behind him, then leaned his head against her, dropping one arm to en circle her legs.
"Interesting phone call," Karen said.
"Has it occurred to you that our domestic life is a little unusual?"
"I'd say it's pretty normal."
"Except that while you're on the phone talking to somebody about the PTO function for the sixth grade, I'm in the other room searching Bureau files for anyone who puts bodies in trash bags and plants them under trees."
"You find something unusual in that?" she asked. She handed him the glass of wine he had left half finished on the dining room table.
"It seems to me you should be researching friend Johnny while I do something more manly in the evenings, like bowl. "
"What did you call him?" Karen asked.
"I'm calling him Johnny, for Johnny Appleseed, another lover of trees."
"Disney will be pleased," Karen said. "Have you found anything yet?"
"Nothing useful. A couple of woodsy types in the Northwest who liked to tie people to trees while they killed them, but I don't think that's much of a connection. What was the interesting call? I thought it was the P'TO."
"That was the first call. I got another one from someone named Tovah Kom." Becker chuckled mirthlessly. "Know her?"
"I met her. I told you about her. The doctor's wife."
"Yes, she made that clear. Is 'Mrs. Doctor Kom' really the way to say that? Isn't it just 'Mrs. Kom'?"
"Or a rank."
"Some people look at it like that, I guess. So she actually called. I was hoping it was just one of those things people say, like let's have lunch."
"She invited us to dinner," Karen said.
"Did you tell her no, I hope, I hope."
"Oh sure. I told her no, we don't eat."
"You could have told her I was antisocial."
"You said she'd met you. She must have figured that out for herself.
Apparently she doesn't care."
"You could have told her you were antisocial."
"We have to keep that our little secret," Karen said. "Remember, social ineptitude is perfectly all right for a big strong man, but for women it's still not done, liberation or no. Anyway, it might be fun."
"Alternately, it might not."
"Do you have anything in particular against the Koms, Doctor and Mrs.
Doctor? Or is it just your general dyspep sia'?"
Becker sighed. "Not really, I suppose. The truth is, I would rather spend the evening alone with you, or with you and Jack, than with anyone else in the world."
"I know. Me too. But it's just one evening. We'll be alone again when it's over."
"if I must, then I am, as always, your slave."
"Dinner sounds good at least," she said. "Mrs. Doctor tells me we're having lobster."
McNeil entered the jail cell with the warder of the Bridgeport police behind him. The perpetrator, looking young, nervous, and sullen, sat on the cot. His eyes never met McNeil's directly, but seemed transfixed on the bars at the opposite end of his cage. McNeil was accustomed to the middle-distance stare; it came as regulation issue to everyone he contacted in the Bridgeport jails. From some it arose from a rage so deep that direct eye contact must lead to violence. From others, from most, it was the ghetto version of a teenager's feigned indifference to authority. It sprang, McNeil knew, from confusion, from profound ignorance of the way the world worked, and from an intense desire to appear cool, regardless of the circumstance. Occasionally he would come to pick up a Clamden youth who had wandered into Bridgeport in search of drugs or trouble and had found both. They were quick to abandon the stare when they saw McNeil, a familiar face in a bad situation, appealing to him with all the sincerity and innocence they could muster.
