Killing Room

by Shawn Raiford

  Henry knew how to make me smile. Hascal was my little man. "I'm good. I'll pick him up this week, and take him to a taqueria."

  "I'm sure he'll be happy to see you," Henry said.

  "So, what's the case?"

  He sighed. "Yeah, got a murder. A woman, throat cut."

  "That sucks. Let me know if you can't get him your way, because my way works every time." My way to acquire justice, after catching the scumbag, would be to string the bastard up by his ankles, and use a blowtorch to color in between the lines.

  Henry chuckled. "It's too early for any of that."

  "Alright, just saying."

  "What else you got going on?"

  Then Henry said something to someone else. "Okay, I'm back. Sorry about that. Mitch asked me something."

  Mitch Mason, his partner. A man that was easy on the eyes. I had an idea. "Hey, you guys want to meet up for tacos or burgers? My treat." I wasn't that hungry just thought I could use it as a chance to go see my little brother. And Mitch.

  "God, that sounds good, but might take us an hour or so to get some time to meet you. Can you wait?"

  Henry was aware that Mitch and I had a thing for each other. We never acted on it, but it was there. Mitch had his women, and I had Sawyer. "What if I bring you Taco Bell or burgers?” Since we were kids, Henry liked Taco Bell beef burritos, no onions. And Mitch liked burgers.

  Henry said, “Oh, that would be so awesome! I want a hundred beef burritos but no onions."

  "Got it! Send me your location and I'll be there soon. Is that cool?”

  "Yes! You are a life saver! Maybe get something for Mitch, would that be okay?"

  "Yeah, no problem!"

  Chapter Six

  Finished off my burrito

  I PULLED INTO AN empty spot in the parking lot.

  The aroma of delicious fast food filled my car. Burritos for Henry and me, and a burger for Mitch. I almost got myself a burger too, but it seemed like too much food.

  Exiting the car, I observed cops lingering on the outside like inmates in a prison yard. I pulled out my phone and called Henry. He answered and told me he and Mitch were heading to apartment 1D so I headed that way.

  As Mitch reached up knocked on a door, I rounded the corner and spotted them.

  Henry spotted me too, smiled, and held up a finger. "Hang on, let us ask this guy some questions."

  Mitch was thin but tone. Even though he consumed a lot of alcohol, he had a flat stomach. His shoulders were wide and his dark hair had some grey coming in, mostly at the temples. Enjoying the view, I shrugged. "No problem. I'll stand right here."

  Henry nodded and Mitch winked at me. Both were handsome with their sports jackets.

  As I leaned against the wall, the apartment door opened, and I heard, "What?"

  A man's voice, but he was out my view.

  "Hello, sir. I am Inspector Mason and this is Inspector Creed."

  "The fuck you two want?" the man asked.

  "Sorry for the late hour, sir, but a tenant of this apartment complex has been murdered."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Who?"

  "The victim's name is Caitlyn Meadows. Did you know her, sir?"

  "That is sad, but no, I didn't."

  "Can we come in, sir and ask you a few questions? Shouldn't take too long."

  Mitch and Henry did not move from their positions.

  "Why? I don't know anything about that woman's death."

  Mitch asked, "Is your name Barry Olsen?”

  "Yes."

  "Your name came up. So we would like to ask you some questions," Mitch said.

  "Nope, you can't come inside. I did nothing wrong, and I don't have to talk to you, goodbye!"

  Henry tried one last time. "Please sir, it won't—"

  Then the door slammed in their faces.

  Mitch flipped the door off, and I chuckled.

  Doing what I did for a living, I came across all kinds, plus the likes of this guy, Barry; an asshole. He thought slamming the door in cops' faces was a real act of defiance. I didn't know him, but I didn't like Barry. My foot itched to meet his ass.

  Henry shook his head, both him and Mitch walked over to me. I did not know how they did it. Put up with shit like that?

  Holding up the food, I smiled at them. "And I have Cokes in my car."

  We walked to the front parking lot and stood next to my Honda Civic.

  I handed them their food and said, ”I would have punched that guy." Pulling the keys from my pocket, I clicked the automatic door opener, and my car doors unlocked.

  Both of Mitch's eyebrows raised. "Well, do me a favor, go in there and shoot him in the balls?"

  Henry chuckled, opening the bag.

  I grabbed two of the Cokes and put them on the hood of my car. "These are yours."

  "Oh, by the way, I like this look on you," Mitch said, looking me up and down.

  I never minded Mitch's eyes on me. I wore a black wig with purple highlights and dark brown eye contacts. "Thanks." That was all I said, because our conversations, at times, got carried away. At times, too raunchy. Had to respect my little brother.

  He knelt down and ran a finger over the spikes of my left boot. "I especially love what you done to your boots!"

  "They help me when I'm kicking someone's ass," I said, winking at him.

  "I's sure they hurt!" he said, sharing a laugh with my brother.

  Each man grabbed a Coke and took a swig, and I grabbed the remaining one.

  "All I want is one burrito for now, Henry."

  He pulled out one of the burritos from the bag and handed it to me. Then he pulled another one. "Thanks! I needed this."

  Without any hesitation, Mitch opened his bag and pulled his fries out. Not bothering with any ketchup he started munching.

  Unwrapped my burrito, I took a bite.

  Henry did the same.

  Before he freed his burger from the bag and its wrapper, Mitch ate half the fries. Unpacking it like a valuable piece of art, he took a bite. Henry took another bite and another and was almost done with the burrito. Mitch popped the last of his fries into his mouth and took a long pull of his drink.

  Why did men always eat so fast? The food wasn't going anywhere. Do they even taste it?

  Henry pointed back to the apartment they were just in. "We got a guy, a neighbor to the victim. Says he knows that guy we just tried to talk to. His name is Barry Olsen."

  "And?"

  "And the witness says that Barry, the guy that just slammed the door in our faces, might be making bad movies."

  "What does that mean?"

  Henry shrugged. "Not sure yet, but that witness tells us that Barry had a bad movie on his laptop."

  My brother was being vague, on purpose. "What does that mean, Henry?"

  "The witness kind of led us to believe the movie that Barry showed him was a film of a man, not him, torturing and then killing a woman."

  "You mean like a snuff film?" I asked.

  "Yes."

  "Well, go in there kick his ass!"

  "We can't enter his apartment based off someone's word."

  It made sense. "So you can't verify the movie is actually a snuff film," I said.

  "Yes, Barry has rights," Henry said.

  My left eye twitched. But this was serious. What if a man did torture and kill a woman? "So, what do you plan on doing with this guy, Barry? Get a warrant? Search his laptop?"

  Mitch shook his head after taking a bite of his burger. He chewed and said, "We can't. Just because someone said he saw the video on his laptop. Besides, we are here trying to find out who killed our victim, Caitlyn Meadows. That's why we are here in the first place."

  I finished my burrito and took another swig of my Coke. Satiated, I didn't want another burrito. "You realize if Barry has one movie, he probably has a hundred more."

  Henry's eyes brows shot up. "Probably more!"

  Smirking, Mitch popped the last bite of burger into his mou
th.

  "Why are you guys telling me this, about Barry?"

  Henry turned to me. "Because there is no way we can force him to talk to us. We can’t even get inside his apartment without a warrant.”

  “Do you believe your witness is telling the truth about the video?"

  Mitch nodded. "Without a doubt! Barry is guilty, I'd bet a thousand dollars, and I am not a betting man."

  Mitch thought everyone was guilty.

  "And you? You believe Barry is bad?” I asked my brother.

  Henry replied, ”Yes. But its still a maybe. And in my opinion, it's too much for a maybe. Someone needs to see if Barry is bad or not."

  I took a swig of my drink.

  "But this poor woman, Caitlyn Meadows, had her throat sliced. Her body is up there getting colder by the minute. For me, she comes first. That's real and in front of us. We just thought, since you're here, that you might want to talk to Barry, in your special kind of way. But if you want to pass and go to bed that's cool too."

  It sounded tempting, but I felt a little lazy. "I don't know guys, I might be busy. I might be going to get laid right now." I shrugged. All I wanted to do was go to bed, I was tired.

  With a look of incredulity, Mitch said, "That's fine, we will get to Barry in a month or two, maybe longer. And that's only if we can finesse a warrant somehow from a judge. Other women might star in another movie."

  If Barry was involved in making snuff films, he needed to be put down like any mangy dog. "If I do this, what do you want me to do if he is making these kinds of movies?"

  Henry shrugged and pointed at Mitch, who said, "Do what you do."

  I scoffed. "If he's guilty, I'll do more than hurt him."

  Mitch put a hand on my shoulder. "If Barry has a movie like our witness says he saw, he forfeited his right to breathe air. Don't you agree?"

  Chapter Seven

  As someone who killed

  AFTER I KNOCKED ON his door, Barry answered the door in a dirty, off-white robe.

  His robe opened. Yellow stains covered the crotch of his white Fruit of the Looms; stretched out—the elastic bands loosely fit around his thin legs. Gross.

  As he stood there, he smiled at me like I was a birthday gift. Just try and open me up, I almost said. Instead, I kicked him in the balls.

  Clutching at his Crown Jewels, Barry took a couple of wobbly steps backwards, falling to the floor. He curled up into the fetal position, wincing. "Ouch! Fuck!” he yelled.

  Upon entering his apartment, I shut the door behind me, and locked it. Foul smelling, an aroma floated on the air; I hated thinking about what kind of airborne particles had entered my nose and lungs.

  Surveying his apartment, I could tell, definitely a man lived here. From the living room, I spotted a coffee table, a brown couch, a brown recliner, and a dining table with three chairs against the far wall. Papers were strewn about on the table. Next to a laptop on the edge of the table sat a half-full Coke bottle. The laptop screen was black.

  Mounted to the wall behind me was a flatscreen TV. A tall floor lamp stood like a slim soldier to the left of the TV, in far the corner.

  The Netflix original show, Frontier, was on. I had watched the show, binged all the seasons three times already. Jason Mamoa could have me any time he wanted; I'd bring the cuffs and jar full of Viagra—both would be for him.

  The remote control lay on the coffee table; I grabbed it and turned down the volume.

  On the right, I entered the kitchen. The sink was full of dirty dishes, maybe the cause of the odor I noticed. An opened loaf of bread lay on the counter along with a jar of mayo. An open package of lunch meat had a big cockroach loitering on the inside. Gross! I hated roaches. My stomach contents threatened to come up, but I suppressed the gag reflex. Barely.

  I'm not going to win any homemaker awards any time soon, but at least I keep my place clean. Made it easier when I want to find something later when your room or house was clean. Every item had its own place. Before she died, my mama taught me that when I was a little girl.

  Exiting the kitchen, I saw Barry still holding onto his boys. Getting kicked in the nuts is quite painful, or so my brother has told me.

  Barry tried to slither away, but his feet couldn't get enough traction on the floor.

  As I inched my way towards him, his effort to escape increased. "What's wrong, Barry?”

  Fear appeared across his face; if he was guilty of hurting women, it would soon become pain across his face. Barry wasn’t much to look at; his hair was made of dark oily strings. With the shoulders of a fourteen-year-old math club member, Barry's only options were roofies or desperate women. Sadly, there was plenty of both.

  He brought up a hand. Blood smeared the crotch of his underwear. Didn’t think I kicked him that hard.

  He gazed at me with incredulity. "Who the fuck are you?"

  Cracking my neck to the left side, I cleared my throat. "I'm not your friend." Reaching inside my jacket, I pulled out a rose—I had a few in my trunk—and placed it on an end table. "People call me Rose."

  He stared at me, but didn't ask me about the flower. It was a hybrid rugosa rose, also known as a Linda Campbell, one of my favorites. Barry's eyes narrowed. "Why did you kick me like that, Rose?"

  As someone who killed people for a living, I have learned to be very careful. Normally, I would have done surveillance before entering, but I decided to wing it this time. Feeling a bit antsy tonight. Besides, it would only take a few minutes. With surveillance or not, if you entered a person’s abode with the intention of killing, you made sure there were no surprises.

  Revealing my pistol, a suppressor was screwed in at the end of the barrel. "Stand up!" I needed to check the apartment to make sure no one else occupied the dwelling.

  When I pointed my pistol at him, he became pliable and stood.

  "Is there anybody else here?"

  Holding onto his manhood, he shook his head. "No, I'm alone."

  "Come on, move it, I have to make sure no one else is here."

  He waddled to his bedroom, and I followed him. Checked under the bed and the closet. No one. We went through the rest of the apartment, checking in every closet and hiding place. Also, I made sure every window was closed and locked.

  Barry was alone. It would be just him and me. If he was innocent, I would leave. If not, something else would happen.

  Listening to Barry groan as he peguined down the hall made me want to kick him in the nads again. But I abstained.

  Wincing, he turned and faced me. "Why are you here?"

  As I raised my weapon, I said, "I'm here to kill you, Barry Olsen."

  Chapter Eight

  Monster movies

  AFTER I ZIP-TIED his wrists and he sat down on the couch, Barry mumbled something.

  Not in the mood to listen to his lies, I punched him in the nose. "Be quiet!"

  He reminded me of someone: Steven Dean. One of the first monsters I ever hunted after receiving the Monster Book. I would like to say that I killed Steven myself, but I didn't. Although, I gleefully watched as his life left his body, someone else did it for me.

  Steven lived in Rosenberg, Texas with his wife and their two sons: Janet, William, and Trevor Dean. His family knew nothing of his past.

  I broke into the Deans' house. Normally I don't like to enter a house with others inside. But I wanted Steven's wife to know. Both their boys were spending the night a friend's house. After I tied Steven and Janet up in their bedroom to two chairs facing one another, I used a pair of pliers on his fingernails.

  In no time Steven talked. Quite vividly, he explained how he raped me back then. It was enough to enrage Janet. I thought she would break free, but she didn't.

  Steven looked off to the side, his eyes narrowed. "I would drive to Baytown, an armpit of a town, to a dirty broken-down house. Norman told me that Kenneth had a sweet little girl for rent. So—" Steven stopped and stared at me. "You were such a very pretty girl," he said, his eyes drifting to the side. "Now y
ou're just old."

  After she begged me, I cut his wife free and gave her the knife. Death did not take long after she sliced Steven's carotid artery. That night, I helped her dispose of his body parts in two counties over.

  There was no way for cops to trace anything back to me. Last time I checked on her, Janet had a new job and was using her maiden name.

  Barry's arms were zip-tied behind his back. Tears ran down both cheeks. "Please!"

  My pistol aimed directly at Barry's face. He sniveled. To say he disgusted me was an understatement. Barry spat a bloody glob onto the floor and took in a deep breath. He let it out and peered up at me.

  An open laptop lay on the dining room table. "What are you doing on your laptop?"

  His eyes evaded mine, darting downward. "Nothing, reading the news, that's all."

  A lie.

  Moving over to the chair, I sat down in front of the computer. When I moved the mouse the laptop's screen went from black to a picture of a naked, heavyset black woman strapped to a table on her stomach. A massive white guy, who had his back to the camera, stood next to her and the table, gripping a knife.

  From the angle of the picture, the camera was positioned a few feet away above everything in a room. Near the ceiling.

  Besides having shoulders I could play hopscotch on, all I saw was the massive guy holding a knife. I couldn't be sure, but he appeared to be cutting sections of skin from her back.

  At the bottom of the screen, I spotted the Play button. I turned to Barry. "Why do you have this?"

  With his eyes now closed, he just sat there and didn't answer.

  Why didn't this shock me? This kind of video? Not many things did anymore. Shaking my head, I clicked on the play button. Screams, immediately, spilled out of the laptop's speakers. The man put the blade down, chuckled, unstrapped her and flipped her over onto her back.

  Now, getting a view of her face, I could tell the woman being tortured was in her early twenties. Sections of her belly and her thighs were already missing skin.