Dale broke the somber mood when they pulled into the parking lot and she heard the loud music and saw the bright neon sign announcing, “Dad's Place Featuring Mom's Barbecue.” “Sounds like a honky-tonk and looks like a cafe, but those units to the right have to be motel rooms,” she laughed.
They made their way into what appeared to be a general store with shelves loaded with various kinds of merchandise. Three teenagers played electronic games on the side of the room that included an opening through which they could see people dancing.
"Howdy, folks,” an attractive middle-aged woman greeted from behind a rear counter. “Barbecue, beer, dancing, pinball machines and pool room are that-a-way,” she laughed, pointing at the opening.
Stan grabbed Dale's arm and tugged her to the counter. “We need a couple of rooms for the night."
The woman winked. “Renting just one will save you money. I won't tell."
"Two rooms,” Dale said indignantly.
The woman shook her head and smiled. “I have two left, but they're not adjoining. They're both in the back. One is on the far end and the other is right next to the store and loud music. Sorry about that. Things usually quiet down after midnight."
Stan and Dale signed the registry and drove to the rear of the motel. She insisted that all of her luggage be brought into the room farthest from the noise and, when he lugged in the last, and heaviest, of her suitcases, she said without emotion, “Do you want to fuck me?"
He felt his face flush and tried to recover. “No,” he said simply. I want to make love to you, he thought. Aloud, he continued, “I want you to explain to me why you intend to kill a man here in Dot."
"I don't really have AIDS,” she said. “That's a line that always works when jerks try to get into my panties."
"It doesn't change anything."
"I don't have any other contagious diseases either and I'll bet the general store is loaded with condoms."
"Dale, I need to know."
"Good night, Stud."
Stan parked the Ford in front of his room, carried his one suitcase inside and snapped on the TV. Jay Leno was interviewing an actress Stan recognized, but could not name. She was cute, but thin as a rail and, instead of bulging, her chest seemed concave. He stripped down to his boxer shorts, used the bathroom and propped on the bed, trying to figure out why he found the skinny actress attractive.
There was a knock on the door. “Stud, it's me."
"Get some rest,” he replied.
"Open the damn door or I'll break it down."
He chuckled. Remembering what she did to the two men at the service station, he thought she might, indeed, be capable of shattering the thin wooden door. “Hang on a minute. He tugged on his pants and opened the door.
"Damn,” she said, eyeing his naked chest. “Where'd you get all those muscles?"
"At the muscle store. What do you want?"
She poked a thick scrapbook through the open doorway. “Read this,” she demanded. She turned and walked away.
Chapter Two
Dale pounded on the opaque shower door. “Want company?"
"How did you get in here?” Stan shouted over the noise of water gushing from the showerhead.
"I have my ways. If you want privacy, you should use the security chain. How about it? Want a quickie this morning?"
"Are you some kind of nympho?"
"Hell, no. I'm a twenty-four year old virgin. Ever screwed a virgin, Stud?"
"Not that I know of. Now get out of my bathroom."
"Nope,” she said as she perched on the closed toilet lid, “not until I get a good look at your equipment."
"I'm not a male stripper, Dale. Get out!"
"What's the matter, Stud? You ashamed of your pecker?"
Stan shut off the shower, wiped water from his skin with his hands and reached over the shower door for a towel. She beat him to it.
"You looking for something?” she laughed.
"Give me that towel or I'll tan your fanny."
"You and what army?"
He pushed open the door, stepped onto the mat and stood facing her with hands on his hips.
"Holy shit,” she said, tossing him the towel. “I changed my mind. That thing would tear me apart."
He turned his back and began drying his muscular body.
"Nice buns. You work out?"
"I don't pump iron, if that's what you mean."
She trailed her fingertip up his buttocks. “You have a hard-on, Stud?"
"I'm a man and you're a good looking woman. Of course I have an erection."
"Good,” she replied. “I was beginning to think you're gay.” She went into the bedroom and rummaged through his suitcase.
"Find anything interesting?"
"You travel light.” She turned and handed him a clean pair of boxers and watched as he dropped the towel and stepped into them. “You should wear jockey shorts,” she commented.
"Why?” He reached into the suitcase for a clean tee shirt.
"Those huge balls need support."
He chuckled as he tugged on the shirt. “For a virgin, you seem quite knowledgeable about male anatomy."
"I studied it in college."
"Oh? I didn't know I was in the company of a college grad."
She perched on the edge of the bed. “Did you know that the fully developed penis ranges in size from two inches to over eighteen inches?"
"Eighteen? You've got to be kidding."
She shook her head. “And did you know that size makes absolutely no difference?"
"So I've been told.” He buckled his belt and sat beside her to put on his shoes and socks. “Do you think they serve barbecue for breakfast?"
She stood and stretched, tightening her loose shirt against her breasts. She laughed when she noticed the focus of his eyes. “You think they're too small?"
He grinned. “Size doesn't matter."
There was only one other diner in the restaurant and they were relieved to find that bacon and eggs were on the menu.
"You put sugar on your grits?” she asked in a disapproving tone.
"That's the way my mama fixed them and I like it."
"Did you read it?"
"I wondered when you'd bring that up. Yes, I read every clipping and didn't sleep a wink all night."
"Good."
"You think it's the same guy?"
"I'd bet my life on it."
"It appears you've spent your life following this maniac's crimes."
"Did you notice the dates on the articles?"
He nodded as he swallowed a large bite of buttered toast. “He seems to be active for a week or two and then disappears for up to six months."
"He never stays in one area very long. Those articles are datelined from twenty-seven different states."
"He's a brutal bastard and leaves no witnesses."
"Oh, yes he does. Some of the victims had children."
Stan nodded as he sipped orange juice. “But he doesn't harm them."
"The hell he doesn't. Those kids are scarred for life."
"I'm sure you're right. It's my guess that he steals jewelry, fences it and then lives on the proceeds until the money runs out."
"Jewelry and cash."
"I understand why he murders his victims but in every article there is a mention of victim mutilation. I suppose he tortures them into revealing the hiding places of their valuables."
Dale shook her head. “He terrorizes them into cooperating. The mutilation comes just before he slits their throats. He's a damn sadist. He rapes the woman while forcing her husband to watch, mutilates the woman, slits her throat and then kills the husband the same way."
He sat back and studied her for a moment. “He's been at it a long time."
"At least thirteen years."
"You'd think that in all that time the guy would have made enough mistakes to be caught."
She shook her head. “He's careful. He wears a ski mask so the children who survive the ordeal
can't give a description. He wears surgical gloves, so there are no fingerprints. He uses a condom and takes it with him, so there's no semen for DNA tests and he shaves his entire body to avoid leaving behind even a single hair."
He leaned forward. “I don't remember reading any of that in your scrapbook."
"There are two other facts you won't find in those articles. He mutilates all the women in the same way. He collects nipples, severed just behind the areola."
Stan grimaced. “And?"
"He's Caucasian but has a chocolate, almost black, band around the base of his penis—a birthmark I think."
"You could only know that if you were one of his victims."
Tears formed in her eyes as she nodded. “Thirteen years ago. I was only eleven years old."
"Did he..."
"No. Like my mom and dad, he tied me to a chair in the den. He forced me to watch. After both of my parents were dead, he ripped open my shirt, thumbed my little knobs and said he was going to save me for later."
He reached for her hand. “Dale, I'm so sorry."
"Yeah."
"You told the police about the birthmark?"
"Not for three years. My mind blanked it out. I have what they now call post traumatic stress syndrome. I recall terrifying snatches of that night from time to time."
"But you did eventually tell the police."
She nodded. “They pretended to be interested, but weren't. Two other couples were murdered by this fiend in our town that week, but by the time I recalled the birthmark, the three years had passed and the monster was long gone. Besides, what could the police do? Make every man in the United States line up and drop their pants?"
"That's essentially what you made me do this morning."
She placed her left hand on top of his and gripped it. “No, Stud. You're too young to be the monster.” She chuckled. “I just wanted to see your dick."
"You haven't seen J. Smith's penis. Why are you so certain he's the man?"
"You remember seeing those floating objects in the plastic containers?"
"Oh, my God!"
She nodded.
"How did you find him when the police couldn't?"
"I spent my life looking for him and preparing for the day we again meet face to face. For the past five years, I've searched the Internet, posting notices on bulletin boards and visiting chat rooms. Yesterday it finally paid off."
She paused while the waitress refilled their coffee cups.
"You can imagine the messages I received in reply. Several seemed promising but proved to be hoaxes, but I was sure this message was the real thing. The woman signed her name as “Sucker.” She said that six months ago a man moved to her hometown of Dot and they began dating. He was into kinky sex. At first, she enjoyed it, but each session became a little heavier. One night he hurt her badly and, when she refused to continue playing his games, he dumped her. She said he has a dark colored band around the base of his penis."
"Still, it could have been another hoax. I'm sure you mentioned the birthmark in your posts."
She shook her head. “I mentioned the birthmark, but Sucker also said that this man shaves his body from his neck to his toes."
Stan edged to the end of the booth. “Let's get out of here.” He paid the bill, took her hand and led her through the general store into the parking lot.
They returned to her motel room and she sat heavily on the only chair. He perched on the edge of the bed, removed his shoes, propped up against the headboard and patted the mattress beside him.
"You had your chance this morning and blew it,” she said.
"Come here.” It was more of a demand than a request.
Her eyes blazed. “Since my father died, no frigging man has told me what to do and gotten away with it."
"What did happen after your father died?"
She smiled uneasily and joined him on the bed. “Like your ex, I'm a rich bitch. The monster only attacks the wealthy—those who have money but not enough to live in guarded mansions. I inherited a fortune. My uncle—dad's brother—was the guardian of the estate. He raised me."
"Did he ... I mean..."
She smiled dreamily. “He was the sweetest man on earth, next to my dad, of course. I spent months in a mental hospital and years on psychiatrists’ couches, but only Uncle Stuart seemed to understand. He never preached to me. He never scolded. He never told me what I should think and feel. He listened. He understood."
Stan slipped his arm around Dale's shoulders. “You still live with him?"
"I live alone in my parent's ... in my house. He suffered a fatal heart attack the day after I graduated from Wake Forest."
"You've lived a rough life."
She nodded and rested her head on his shoulder.
"Blowing J. Smith's brains out will resolve all of your problems?"
She sat up and stared at him. “I'm not going to shoot him. I may have to wound him, but I'm not about to put a bullet in his worthless head. That would be too merciful.” She seemed lost in space. “I'm going to tie him up, like he did my mom and dad. I'm going to slice off his dick and balls, like he sliced off mom's breasts. I'm going to pour salt in the wound, like he did to mom. I'm going to listen to him scream behind the gag, like he listened to my mom. If he passes out, I'll slit his throat, like he slit mom and dad's throats."
"And then?"
She smiled at him. “Then it's finished."
"You'll go to jail or a mental institution."
"No, I won't."
"How can you be so sure?"
"They don't incarcerate dead bodies."
"You intend to kill yourself?"
She smiled. “I've longed for death since that night thirteen years ago, but I couldn't depart this world with the monster running loose."
"The instant you die, the monster wins the ultimate victory."
Doubt flickered in her eyes.
"If it were me, I'd want him to suffer much more than your plan allows."
"I'm listening."
Stan stood up and went to the bathroom. When he returned he said, “Have you ever been inside a prison?"
"No. You?"
He shook his head. “I've read about it and seen movies and TV stuff."
"That's fiction."
"Based on fact. Imagine J. Smith spending the rest of his life battered, savagely beaten and on his knees while fellow inmates enjoy his butt-hole and throat."
She slipped to the edge of the mattress and grinned. “You paint a beautiful picture, but the bastard will get off on a technicality."
"I don't think so. If those plastic containers hold what you think they do, DNA tests will match them to the victims. Dale, you've nailed the bastard. There is no loophole that I can see."
"You think I need to try the police again?"
"I do."
"Do you think this one-horse town has a police force?"
"If not, the county has a sheriff."
She stood and paced the floor. Stan waited patiently and finally said, “A nickel for your thoughts."
"A nickel?"
He grinned. “Inflation."
"Since that night, one obsession has kept me going—the thought of watching the monster suffer and die. If I go your way, what's left?"
"You could visit him in prison occasionally and thumb your nose at him."
"That doesn't light my fire."
"Do I?"
She smiled. “I'm not sure. Maybe."
"You could spend the next chapter of your life chasing me instead of the monster. You might even get me between the sheets one day."
"Would it be worth the effort?"
"I haven't received any complaints so far."
She turned her back on him and stared out the window. “Stud, will you go with me?"
He approached, placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her neck. What happened to Wonder Woman who needs no man in her life?"
"Wonder Woman is a figment of your imagination. At the moment, she's
apprehensive and a little frightened. She still doesn't need a man, though. She needs a friend."
* * * *
"You may be a damned female, but you're no better than the men dressed in blue I've talked with over the years!” Dale screeched.
"Calm down, Dale."
"Go to hell, Stud. I told you it was no use coming to the police."
Chief Cranfield leaped from her chair and glared at Dale. “Watch your tongue, you sawed off runt, or I'll rip it out of your crybaby mouth."
Dale sprang to her feet, toppling her chair in the process. “You're a frigging disgrace to professional women the world over. I've handed you the evidence to hang this monster and you don't give a shit. I ought to make you eat that damn gold shield you wear on your silicone-stuffed tit."
Lacy Cranfield moved to the end of her desk, eyes blazing. “At least I have breasts, you little runt. You want a piece of me? Come on, bitch."
Stan clapped his hands and shouted, “All right! Cat fight!"
The women simultaneously jerked their heads towards Stan and shouted, “Shut up!” Instantly their eyes again locked and they broke into laughter.
"Sorry,” Dale said.
Lacy perched on the edge of her desk and smiled at Stan. “You have quite a little spitfire here."
"She isn't mine, but you're right about the spitfire bit. You should have seen what she did to a couple a guys twice her size at a service station in South Carolina."
"Kung Fu?” Lacy asked, again looking at Dale.
"Karate."
"You going to be in Dot long?"
"I hope not."
"Too bad. I could use an instructor. You ever use that move with the palm driving the nose into the attacker's brain?"
"I know the move, but I've never encountered an occasion to use it. Properly executed, that's instant death."
Lacy slid off the desk, righted the chair and said, “Sit your tight little butt down and listen to me for a minute."
Momentarily subdued, Dale obeyed.
"Do you have any idea how many J. Smiths, John Smiths, and Johnny Smiths there are in the world? I could spend the rest of my life searching computer data banks for this man. Besides, the J. Smith you are implicating is Jerry and he's a nice guy."
Sintown Chronicles III: In Dark Corners Page 22
