“Wouldn’t have respected you as a journalist if you didn’t.” He returned her smile.
“I hate bars.” She glanced at the pool tables at the back of the room. “Why don’t we go to my place?”
“I can’t get involved with a witness in an ongoing investigation.” Hard to get was probably what she liked. Robert was good at that.
“Who said anything about getting involved? One drink. I have to be somewhere in a couple of hours anyway.”
Something in her smile tickled his gut. No. He couldn’t choose her. She was too close. Too hot. “Okay. One drink.”
#
Robert visited the men’s room before leaving the bar. The small box on the wall requested five dollars for a single condom but Robert paid the hefty price. Better safe than sorry was more than a quaint warning in his line of work. Francine was already outside by the time he emerged. They walked the short distance to her building in silence. In the elevator, they stood side-by-side, neither uttering so much as a sigh.
When the doors opened, he followed her down the hall to her apartment, his gaze resting briefly on the yellow tape covering the door next to it. She made quick work of the lock and walked inside her apartment. Robert trailed behind her, his gut tightening a little at the way he inadvertently followed her lead. He barely closed the door when she turned and reached behind her back. He heard the zip of her dress.
Robert smiled and took off his jacket. “This is very unprofessional.”
She matched his grin and lowered the dress to reveal her tits. “Very.”
Robert recalled the smudge he’d noticed on her breasts the day before. He knew what she wanted and his gut said to give it to her, even if it complicated things immensely.
He closed the distance between them, and then tugged the front of her dress, pulling her against him. “My boss would skin me alive if he knew I was here.”
“So he’s the Stripper?” She loosened his tie, but didn’t lift it over his head.
“Bad joke,” he said and crushed her mouth with his.
Francine let go of his tie, moving her hands to his belt. She opened her mouth, letting him inside, and pushed her hips against him.
“Seriously, I could get fired.”
“Won’t tell a soul,” she promised. She pushed aside his belt and released the button on his pants. He felt her hand reach into his pants, and then her fingers closing around his cock. “Well, we know it’s not a gun in your pocket.”
He chuckled. Francine wasn’t hard to like. She was sexy, smart and bold. He didn’t have to force his arousal, as he often did with other women. Still, his gut tingled as he recalled the tiny details that whispered she was a copycat… the most pathetic kind of psychopath.
Francine kissed his neck, and then nipped at the skin beneath his ear. “Fuck me, Detective Hanes.”
He gripped her waist, lifting her as he walked toward the bedroom. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing her lips to his while grinding herself against him.
“No,” she said. “The desk.”
Robert stopped. Her command touched the depths of his gut again, but he pushed his anger down. Just because he obeyed a command or two didn’t mean he didn’t control the situation. Turning back, he carried her to the desk, setting her down brusquely before turning her around. “You like giving orders?”
She nodded. “Don’t you?”
He took the foil package from his pocket and tore it open. No evidence. Sliding the slick rubber over his erection, he then lifted the hem of her dress.
“What’s taking you so long?” she taunted.
Robert pushed his hand between her thighs. She wore no panties, which didn’t surprise him. She knew he’d fuck her, just as he knew she wanted him to. He pushed two fingers inside her, and she gasped. His gut nudged him, and Robert shoved a third finger in, purposely making it painful. Francine moaned.
“I said fuck me,” she snapped. “Stop wasting time with that shit.”
She wants a fucking. So be it. Robert removed his fingers and gripped her ass. He thrust into her backside, smiling at the cry of surprise his intrusion elicited. Thrusting again, he held her tightly as lust consumed the gnawing in his gut.
“Hurts,” Francine managed.
“Does it?” He pumped faster.
“Yes.” She sounded breathless, but not afraid. Robert felt his legs weakening as his orgasm loomed.
“Want me to stop?”
“No way.” She pushed her ass against him and for the first time in a long while, Robert lost control.
FOUR
“Now, lass, this is unnecessary.” The dirty piece of shit Francine lured to the warehouse didn’t seem scared enough. Probably his alcohol soaked brain diluting the seriousness of his situation.
Detective Hanes left the night before almost immediately after he ejaculated in her ass. She’d stood there for a moment, still bent over the desk, heart pounding, flames blazing in her chest. His footsteps sounded on the carpet, the door opened, then closed. She figured he was upset. Worried she’d go to his boss. She had bruises on her hips, her neck, and on the tender skin of her thighs. The detective’s dark side had surprised and thrilled her. She planned to meet it again very soon.
But she had a job to do first. He’d be frustrated when he found her handiwork, but there’d be no doubt the Stripper killed the vagrant. She worked too hard to fail.
The warehouse had been vacant for about a year. The “For Sale” sign was cracked, its color faded. She’d cut the lock meant to keep squatters out, and slung a chain over the bare rafters of what used to be a meat packing room. Finding a harness proved difficult, so she’d made her own out of smaller chains and secured them with a padlock around the vagrant’s chest. She’d cuffed his hands to the chain above his head. Not exactly like the Stripper, but close enough. Picking up the knife she’d found at the hunting and fishing depot a few miles out of the city, Francine approached the bum. He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t beg for mercy.
“What you going to do with that now?” he asked.
“I’m going to remove your clothes,” she said. Should’ve knocked him out first, but she had to hear him scream. Every detail had to be like the Stripper’s killings. Otherwise, the fire wouldn’t be sated.
Francine cut the dirty remnants of his coat. With gloved hands, she tossed it to the floor. She moved to his baggy jeans, and then his shirt. Stripped bare, the vagrant wasn’t so dirty. His skin was pale; bruises on his belly suggested a fight, or just some prick kicking him while he slept on the street.
“Gonna have your way with me, eh?” the vagrant grinned with rotting teeth.
“I’m going to skin you,” she said, pressing the knife to his thigh, just next to his testicles. The blade was exceptionally sharp, cutting the flesh with the slightest of pressure. Francine cut a straight line, but the vagrant didn’t react as she hoped. He’d gasped, but watched the blood, as though as fascinated as she was.
Francine turned the knife, slicing the skin away from the muscle. This time he flinched.
“Ach,” he grunted. “That smarts.”
“Aren’t you scared?”
“Nah,” he sniffed. “Don’t want to die, but when your time comes, it comes. Got a belly full of whiskey, thanks to you, and a pretty lady touching me privates. Worse ways to go.”
Fucking lunatic. Francine flicked the blade, slicing a chunk of flesh from his leg. He yelped, but the sound of pain was followed by laughter. The fire screamed for his torment. Francine’s vision clouded and she sliced again and again. No longer caring about the Stripper or his damn crime scene, she sliced at the vagrant until he finally cried out.
“Enough,” he said, his head hanging. “Just get it over with.”
Francine smiled. “Not a chance. This is going to take all night.”
#
Robert stood beneath the mutilated body, disgust churning in his belly. The flesh of the corpse was hacked away. No finesse, no care. He scratched his chin, e
yeing the message roughly scrawled on the wall next to the body. THERE WILL BE MORE was written in the man’s flesh, but if he didn’t know what it should say, it’d be difficult to read, the pieces too asymmetrical to make proper letters.
“Stripper must be cracking.” Cap knelt on the floor, examining the blood and bits of flesh coating the dirty cement. “Didn’t even use the same type of harness this time.”
“It’s not him,” Robert muttered.
“Looks like him.”
“No it doesn’t.” Robert looked up at the body. The face was still intact. He never left the skin on the face. Always scalped them completely. The torso was almost entirely stripped of flesh, but the legs and arms were whole, with several nicks and gouges. Fucking amateur. “Look closer. This is nothing like the Stripper’s murders. The guy was hacked, not skinned.”
Cap stood. Robert felt a gentle pressure on his shoulders as Cap patted him. “You’re the expert. I see what you mean now that you point it out. The Stripper is precise, almost like he’s in total control.”
He is.
Cap leaned close to the torso, eyeing the jagged tear just beneath the vagrant’s nipple. “I’d say this one was rushed. Angry.”
“I think you might be right.” Robert hadn’t noticed the anger at first, his own fury blinding him to the obvious. “Maybe the killer was trying to copy the Stripper, and when she… or he failed, he got frustrated. Started hacking away at the poor bastard.”
“Is it so hard to skin a man?”
Robert almost laughed. “I wouldn’t know firsthand, but the Stripper manages to remove most of the flesh without killing them. I imagine that’d take some skill.” He knew full well it took years of practice.
“So the Bloodletter and the Stripper both have a fan.”
“Or a competitor.”
Cap drew a breath and released it slowly, letting it whistle between his teeth. “Just what we fucking need. Three psychos fighting it out.”
Something on the corpse’s hand caught Robert’s eye. He knelt, shining his phone light on the knuckles. His breath caught as he eyed the long red hair coiled around the index finger.
Tsk, tsk, Francine.
#
Francine’s police scanner warbled with the details of the warehouse a few hours before, but she’d heard nothing since. Tapping the desk, she contemplated calling Robert. Would he share details? Would her interest raise suspicion? She knew she’d failed, but would the cops overlook her screw-ups and credit the kill to the Stripper anyway?
Would the Stripper want revenge for her horribly inadequate emulation?
Every time Francine copied a killer, she wondered the same thing. The fire wanted one of them to confront her, to know she saw them, but they never did. The price of perfection, she supposed. If the cops couldn’t figure her out, the killers weren’t likely to either.
A knock at the door startled Francine from her thoughts. She stood, smoothing her skirt before walking across the living room to answer it. She peered through the peephole. Robert’s cold eyes stared back. He looked angry.
She opened the door. “I didn’t think I’d see you so soon.”
He walked past her, but didn’t reply.
“Is something wrong?” She touched her neck, rubbing the bruise he’d left with his mouth. The memory made her wet. His anger now might be rewarding.
He faced her, a scowl marring his handsome face. “Where were you last night?”
“Here. Why? I don’t recall making any promises. You took off before I could say anything, actually.”
“Where. Were. You?” he repeated, taking a step closer.
A thrill danced up her spine. “Here, I said. Jesus, what’s wrong with you?”
Robert reached out, grabbing a handful of her hair. He yanked her against him.
A frisson of apprehension tickled her skin when she saw his hands. “Why are you wearing gloves?”
“The same reason you wear them.”
The fire danced in her belly. “You’re not making any sense.”
“I know what you’ve done.”
“I’ve done nothing that warrants you manhandling me like this.”
“Stop the charade. Lying will only make it worse.”
“And if I am lying?” she smiled as he tightened his grip, sending sparks of pain through her scalp. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
Robert lifted her skirt with his free hand, and then ripped at her panties. “Why are you fucking with me?”
He shoved his fingers inside her. Francine closed her eyes, enjoying the delicious heat his movements ignited in her belly. “I’m not fucking with you, but we can remedy that if you want.”
“Stupid bitch.” He removed his fingers, shoving her toward the bedroom. “You know what I mean.”
Francine didn’t know why he was so angry. Maybe her crime scene sent him over the edge. He thought he knew the Stripper, but now he wasn’t so sure. His obvious distress made him forget to take off the gloves. She grinned as he pushed her into her bedroom. She stumbled through the doorway, fighting to hide the smile before turning to face him.
Robert kicked the door closed. He removed his jacket, and then unbuckled his pants. Reaching into the jacket pocket, he removed something, and then tore at his shirt. He dropped jacket and shirt on the floor as he advanced toward her. “The warehouse, Francine. I know it was you.”
His words sent the fire blazing. He couldn’t know. Obviously, he was cracking under the pressure. “What warehouse? Robert, you’re scaring me.”
He smiled, suddenly in control once more. As he stripped the remainder of his clothes, she noted the way his body relaxed, the lines on his forehead smoothing out. She caught the movement of his arm. All warmth left her body as he lifted a knife.
The skinning knife from the police photos.
“Robert—this changes things. Don’t you see?”
He slipped a shower cap over his hair.
She laughed.
Robert pushed her and she fell onto the bed. “Amused? You won’t be in a minute. Have I mentioned how much I hate posers?”
“I’m not,” she stammered as he bent over her. This was not at all what she planned. Robert—a cop—was the Stripper? No. He was cracking. Had to be. “I—it’s not what it seems. Give me a chance to explain.”
“Not interested.”
She lay back as he straddled her thighs. She felt his erection against her thigh and realized she could still salvage the situation.
Robert rested the hand holding the knife next to her face. She was careful not to look at it, and lifted her hips.
He smiled. “You think sex is going to make me change my mind?”
“We could try to negotiate a mutually satisfying arrangement.”
He lifted his hand to his mouth. With his teeth, he opened the foil packet.
“Robert—”
“Shut up.”
She watched him slide the condom on, and then he shifted his body, thrusting inside her.
“Let’s talk about this,” she said.
“I’d rather fuck you first.”
“If you’re the Stripper, you’d know this is a mistake.” She grasped to form words as he moved in and out of her. “You kill me here, it sends a message.”
“It does.” He quickened his thrusts, pushing into her violently.
While terrified, Francine felt her climax building. She’d waited for this, a mentor confronting his student, for so long. She didn’t believe he’d kill her. The Stripper was a professional. That much she was sure of. If Robert was him, he wouldn’t do it like this.
“You killed the guy next door.” He slowed his thrusts. “Why?”
“The fire,” she said arching her back. “It tells me. I have to or it’ll consume me.”
“Psycho.” Robert pushed into her again, his body shuddering.
“So are you.” She was disappointed that he was finished, but he hadn�
��t moved the knife. He wouldn’t do it.
He kissed her mouth gently, and then stared into her eyes. “I’m not crazy, Francine, though you certainly are certifiable.”
“You skin people alive.”
“Yes,” he grinned. She felt the sting of the knife on her cheek. “I do.”
“Touching.” Cap’s voice froze a place deep inside Robert.
“Cap?” Robert slid off Francine. The knife felt heavy in his hand. “It’s not what you think.”
Cap grinned as he slid a glove over his hand. “So many mistakes, Robert. I think it’s time to call a professional.”
FIVE
“Christ.” Joshua, the new guy, slowly walked into the bedroom. His face was pale. “What in the flying fuck happened in here?”
Cap followed him inside, schooling his features to reflect the same shock. “Looks like someone’s pissed.”
The redhead’s body lay in the middle of the bed, hands bound with Robert’s tie. Her body was completely skinned. Her eyes bulged, and seemed to look down at the heap of red hair and Robert’s skinning knife laying on her chest. Above her head, strips of skin had been stuck to the wall, but the message was different this time.
“Copycat,” Cap read aloud. “Huh.” While he admired Robert’s skill as the Stripper, skinning someone was a shit ton of work. Cap preferred to let them bleed out. Quick and relatively painless.
“Yeah.” Joshua walked toward the open bathroom door. He flicked the light on and gasped. “You might want to look in here.”
Cap tore his gaze from the flesh on the wall and walked to the bathroom. “Oh fuck, this is just… I don’t even have the words.”
He allowed himself a quick smile as he eyed Robert’s body, immersed in his own blood. On the wall there was another message: AMATEUR.
“It’s like the fucking psychos got together for a party.” Cap was careful to keep his booty covered feet on the carpet, but leaned into the bathroom. Every surface was covered in blood. The shower curtain, once a pristine white, now patterned with a dozen handprints, all Robert’s post-mortem, of course.
Terrible Cherubs: Tales of Sinners, Mistakes, and Regrets Page 8
