Hair of the Bitch - A Twisted Suspense Thriller

by Jeff Menapace

  “Where?” I said, my head going all over the room, looking for I don’t know what.

  “The cameras feed into my TV. Stop stalling, Calvin.”

  “Tell me something,” I said. “If I’m supposed to kill this girl, what’s stopping me from just killing you?” I held up the box-cutter.

  She smiled. “Nothing. You could do that I suppose. But the tape would still be out there wouldn’t it? You’d have no way of knowing where it was, or how many copies I’d made. Jesus, Calvin, you act as though I’m an idiot.

  “The bottom line is that you have two choices: you can do what I tell you to do, or you can take your chances with the tape.”

  I dropped my head and stared at the floor.

  “Besides,” she said, pressing her body against mine. “I don’t think you want to leave. Who else is going to fuck you the way I do?”

  “I’ve had plenty just as good as you,” I said.

  She gave a little smile, closed her eyes and nodded; indulging what we both knew was a lie.

  I turned and headed down the hallway. Time to kill Stephanie.

  23

  I stood outside the room, the door still locked. In my hands were the keys, the smelling salts, and a white leather mask. In the pocket of my overalls was a box-cutter. On the other side of the door was an unconscious prostitute I was supposed to kill.

  I did the locks quickly and without thought. Stuffed the ring of keys in my overalls.

  The mask. I had to put it on before entering. There were cameras. I didn’t see any, but Angela said they were there.

  I pulled the mask over my head slowly. It was a snug fit, molding tight to my face. I had holes for my eyes, nose, and mouth. Dare I say it was comfortable as far as masks for this kind of thing go?

  I opened the door and quickly stepped inside. I spun and shut the door behind me, my back to Stephanie. I couldn’t look at her. Not yet. I just stared at the door, my breath erratic, heart thumping like a fist on my chest.

  (You gonna do it?)

  I patted the pocket of my overalls, felt the bulge of the box-cutter.

  I can’t do it.

  (Angela will be upset.)

  I don’t care.

  (Don’t you?)

  How did I get here? How did it get to this?

  I turned around.

  Stephanie was there, on her feet, facing me.

  How—? was the only thought I managed before she kicked me in the nuts. I instantly doubled over in pain.

  “Fuck you!” she screamed, and kicked me in the face with enough oomph behind it to drop me to a knee.

  She backed up for another kick and I dove forward, catching her leg, driving her to the floor, me on top.

  “Fuck you fuck you fuck you!” She wiggled and bucked with insane strength, arms flailing like studded whips, trying to hit, claw, and rake whatever they could. Catching and controlling those whips would be like snatching cobras. Fuck that.

  I dug into my pocket and withdrew the box-cutter. Slid the blade out of its shaft, grabbed and pinned Stephanie by the throat with my left, raised the box-cutter overhead with my right.

  She started to cry—the anger and rage turning to fear and defeat. She mumbled something, her sobbing making words incoherent. I held my frantic breath as best I could to listen. The only thing I got was “mom.”

  She was asking for her mother.

  I took my hand off her throat, lowered the blade, and maneuvered off her torso. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Jesus, I’m so, so sorry.”

  Stephanie suddenly rolled and lunged, attaching herself to me, biting, gouging, screeching…tearing at my mask.

  Panic set in. I shook her off and snatched the box-cutter. I don’t remember much in the way of detail after that. All I can say is that the client ended up getting what they wanted: it took forever to kill her.

  The Bar

  “So you went through with it, huh?”

  I drain my scotch, reach for the bottle and nearly knock it over. The bartender takes the Macallan and pours for me. I nod thanks and immediately sip.

  “Yeah…I guess I did,” I say, eyes on the floor.

  “You didn’t want to…”

  I shake my head, eyes still on the floor.

  “So why did you?”

  I finally look up. I imagine my face is like an orphan’s out of Dickens. “I don’t know. It all happened so fucking fast. She was fighting like a wild animal, trying to rip off my mask—I couldn’t have two tapes out there with my face on them.”

  “You said you do all that martial arts stuff. Why not just knock her out? Put her in some kind of hold and restrain her?”

  Eyes back on the floor. “I don’t know…like I said, it’s kind of a blur. I didn’t want to kill her. She just kept fighting though…no matter how many times I cut her, she kept fighting.”

  “Is that how you lost your ear? Is that why your face is all messed up? She do that to you when you were fighting?”

  I shake my head. “No.” I wave a hand across my battered face. “All this happened later.”

  “Do tell.”

  I glance up at him with only my eyes. I can tell he still thinks I’m full of shit. Assuredly even more so after my recent account with Stephanie.

  And I still think that’s just fine. Ironic though. When I first walked in here, the guy looked frightened, ready to call the police. Even when I threw hundred dollar bills in his face, assured him I would be a kitten on a stool, he still held that look.

  He only started to relax when I began telling the truth.

  24

  I sat on the floor in a daze, Stephanie’s body next to me. Her face and neck were a mangled mess, a good portion of that mess all over me. I thought of Angela’s morbid comment about the white mask and blood, the contrast it would make. There were no mirrors in the room, but I’d wager Angela would be pleased.

  I heard the locks begin to click and slide, the door opening.

  “We’re done,” Angela said. “You can take your mask off now.”

  I looked at her. “How do I know you’re not still filming?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m not wearing a mask—and I’m standing here in the room with you.”

  I ripped the mask off and flung it into the corner.

  “So?” she said. “How was it?”

  “Weren’t you watching?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I want to hear it from you.”

  “Hear what?”

  “How you feel.”

  “I feel like I need a drink.”

  “Come on…”

  I got to my feet. “What do you want me to say?”

  “Just tell me how you feel.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Excited?”

  I said nothing.

  “Scared?”

  I said nothing.

  “Aroused?”

  I glared at her.

  “Come on, Calvin, say something.”

  “I feel like I just killed someone.”

  She shook her head as though disappointed in me. “No you don’t.”

  “Whatever. Fuck you. I want a drink.”

  She eyed up my gory overalls. “Don’t you think you should get cleaned up first?”

  I splayed my arms, putting it all on display. “What for? This bother you?”

  She rolled her eyes as if I had the audacity to match wits with her. “Bother me to look at? No. Bother me if you sit your bloody butt on my furniture? Yes.”

  I snorted. “Such are the pitfalls of your fucked-up trade, Angela. Deal with it.”

  She casually strolled towards Stephanie’s body. “Well then you should at least move her first.”

  “Why? She’s not going anywhere.”

  “We have to get rid of her, Calvin. Why not get it out of the way now so you can relax later?”

  “So nice of you to take my feelings into consideration, but fuck that. Stephanie can wait.”

  Angela squatted next to Stephanie’s
body, examining the shredded meat that used to be her face. She seemed unfazed by my defiance, choosing a quiet indifference as her means to regain dominance. After a good minute or two—she continuing to inspect Stephanie’s remains in silence as though I wasn’t there; me standing behind her in bloody overalls, all but folding my arms and holding my breath like a kid—I eventually cracked.

  “What did you mean by get rid of her?” I asked. “Get rid of her how?”

  She stood upright, dusted herself off. “I have a place.”

  “What do you mean? What kind of a place?”

  “So many questions. Just try and relax, Calvin.”

  “Yeah, well, I’d like to, but you’re the one who’s telling me I need to get rid of her body first.”

  Angela held up a hand and nodded, looking mildly annoyed as she placated me. “Alright, alright—I think maybe you do need a drink first.”

  “Fuckin’ A.” I turned and left the room.

  25

  My glass of scotch was half-empty by the time Angela entered her living room.

  “Feel better?” she asked, motioning towards my drink.

  “No—but after a few more I will.” I drained the remainder in one gulp then poured myself a refill.

  “You feel ready to talk yet?” she asked.

  “I still don’t know what you want me to say.”

  She stared at me.

  “Okay,” I began, “you wanna know how I feel, right? That’s what you want? How I feel? Okay, here goes…” I took a sip of scotch, cleared my throat. “I feel conflicted. I feel conflicted because, well, let’s see; I’m standing here in a mansion, drinking a glass of scotch that probably costs more than my rent, with chunks of fucking flesh on me.” I took another sip. “I feel conflicted because now I haven’t just killed some freak in self-defense; now I am the freak. I’ve committed premeditated murder. Gave all those sickos you call clients something to jerk off to so your crazy ass can make a profit. And you know what?” I took another sip, let out a pathetic laugh. “Here’s the sickest part. The part I simply cannot understand. There’s a part of me—an exceptionally fucked-up part—that went through with this insanity just to get your approval. I mean for fuck’s sake, most guys try roses and Hallmark cards; I gotta kill a whore with a fucking box-cutter.”

  I finished my drink, turned back to the bar, poured another. Angela slid up behind me. I didn’t turn around.

  “You don’t have to be ashamed of your feelings for me,” she said.

  I kept my back to her. “Well, I am. If I wasn’t so fucked in the head, I would have turned us both in by now.”

  “Don’t say that. You know despite what you might think, I’m not using you for strictly financial purposes.”

  I snorted.

  “It’s true. I have no choice in what it is that I do.” She placed her lips to my ear, whispered: “So why not bring someone as sexy as you on board to make it all worthwhile?”

  I turned quickly and faced her. “What did you just say?”

  “It’s true, Calvin. I do like you.”

  “No, not that. What you said about not having a choice.”

  “What?”

  “You just said that you did this kind of stuff because you had no choice.”

  “I think you misunderstood.”

  “No, no, you just said—”

  “Calvin…I really think you misunderstood.”

  I groaned and turned my back to her again. “Fine. Whatever.”

  She leaned into my ear again. “Do you want to watch?”

  “Watch what?”

  “Your big debut.”

  I turned and glared at her, then took my drink to the sofa and stretched out.

  “I’ll take that as a no then?” she said.

  “Take it any fucking way you want. In fact, if you really wanna take something, how about coming over here and taking my cock in your mouth while I finish my drink?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, are you the only one who’s allowed to initiate things? You wouldn't be using sex as a tool now would you, Angela? No, of course not. That would make you no different than that poor girl upstairs, wouldn’t it?”

  “Well you’re just brimming with confidence. Maybe this was a good experience for you.”

  “Rattle off all the psychological bullshit you want; my dick is still dry.”

  We locked eyes. Another game of defiance. I was not going to lose this one.

  “I’ll tell you what,” she said, “you go upstairs and bring Stephanie down so we can get rid of her, and then maybe later I’ll make things worth your while.”

  I hurled my drink towards the stone fireplace, the fine crystal shattering into a mist. Angela flinched and I liked it.

  “I’ll tell you what,” I said. “Why don’t you shut up and come over here and do what the fuck I asked you to do.”

  She turned to leave, but I was on my feet and behind her in a blink. I wrapped my forearm around her neck and pulled her back towards the sofa, my other hand tearing at her clothes as she struggled to get free.

  “We’re all animals, remember? We don’t ask; we just take.”

  My words prompted her into action, but I expected this and upped my own aggression. I had her pants around her ankles, had her bent over the arm of the sofa. I went to work with feverish intent, moving in and out of her like a piston. Her struggles fueled my desire, each protest making me thrust harder. I was giving it to her. Showing her that she did not pull all the strings. She may have my ass on tape, but by God I could inflict some sense of dominance couldn’t I? Couldn’t I? Couldn’t I…?

  Why is she moaning like that? Is she enjoying this? She is! She is!!

  I immediately pulled out.

  “What?” she said, turning towards me, panting. “Why did you stop?”

  I said nothing and backed away, the overalls around my ankles nearly tripping me.

  “Why did you stop?” she asked again, still breathless. “That was amazing.”

  “Forget it,” I mumbled, pulling my bloodied overalls back on. “I don’t get you.”

  “Well, you’re not the first man who’s said that to me,” she said as she began inching up her panties.

  “Oh you're such a sexy fucking enigma aren't you? Give ’em a little taste and they’ll kill for you right? You know what? I don't think you are any different than that whore upstairs.”

  “My face doesn’t look like hamburger.”

  “Fuck you. Tell me what you meant earlier about having to do it.”

  “Oh we’re back to that now, are we?”

  “Tell me!”

  She took a step back, held up both hands to try and soothe me. “Calvin, even if I wanted to tell you…”

  So I did hear correctly.

  “Tell me what? Come on, tell me what?”

  “Can we just move on please?” she asked. “We need to move Stephanie.”

  “If I get rid of Stephanie will you talk to me?”

  She walked towards me and placed both hands on my waist. I thought she was about to kiss me until she spoke.

  “We’ve got a good thing going here, Calvin. It sounds to me like you’re trying to complicate things.”

  “I’m not trying to complicate things. I’ve already done what you wanted me to do, right? All I was doing was reacting to something you said, that’s all.” I took hold of her hands on my hips. “Just tell me. Please?”

  She did not pull away, but her face expressed something I’d never seen in her before. For the first time, Angela Thorne looked uncertain.

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “You know what? We’ll let it go for now. What do you want me to do with Stephanie?”

  She raised an eyebrow at me. No doubt she was shocked at how quickly I had let the subject drop, how quickly I had gone from rapist to counselor. Truth be told, this was part of my plan. Trying to outfox someone as wily as Angela was like playing Xbox with your toes. I knew that any obvious attempt on my part would b
e fruitless, so I opted to play the waiting game. My hope was that in time, she would eventually slip up and divulge a little more information to me just as she’d done only moments ago. That little nugget of optimism was enough to keep me quiet and obedient—for now.

  “I have a place where we can bring our subjects,” she said.

  “Our subjects?” I said. “You mean the people we torture and kill.”

  “The people you torture and kill.”

  “The people you make me torture and kill.”

  “It’s an incinerator,” she said. “There will be nothing left. No traces.”

  “What about the people who saw us pick her up? They could go to the police.”

  She laughed. “No cop would care. Occupational hazard.”

  I hoped she was right.

  I asked. “You burn ’em?”

  “Yup.”

  “Where is it?”

  “I’m going to give you directions. You can put her in the trunk of my car and take her. Come straight back when you’re done.”

  “A ‘please’ would be nice.”

  “Do I really have to say please?”

  “No, but it helps when you treat me like a slave.”

  She gave my cock a stroke. “Pretty please?”

  I pulled away as I felt myself getting hard. The powerful bitch had enough leverage over me. I felt like I’d won something earlier and I wasn’t about to trade that in no matter how much I wanted to bend her over that couch and finish what I’d started.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Was that so hard?”

  “It was getting there.”

  I ignored her wit. “Directions?”

  She produced a folded sheet of paper and handed it to me. “Don’t be stupid and run any lights or anything. You’ll have a body in your trunk.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.”

  PART SIX

  What Number Am I?

  26

  The location of the incinerator was close to the same unsavory neighborhood where we’d picked up Stephanie, and I was worried about being spotted by one of her “co-workers.” I’d mentioned this to Angela again right before I left, and, like before, she merely laughed it off and reminded me about occupational hazards—no one would care if Stephanie went missing for a few days, let alone hours.