by Kirk Alex
Base was down once again, like it or not. Recovered the plywood, and wiped the offal against the dead man’s bare chest. Looked the Bull’s eye over.
“Told you before: You don’t rub the plywood against the vic.”
“You right. I forget.”
“What do you got?”
“Can’t tell.”
Marvin held it up for Cecil to take, and climbed out. Biggs looked at the board.
“What chu got?”
“Not even close.”
CHAPTER 341
Marvin continued to admire the blazer and himself in it.
“Look good in it, Base. Best of all, didn’t cost a dime.”
“He come out of nowhere. Scared the livin’ shit out of me, too. For a minute there, thought it was one of them dope-gang you was talkin’ about.”
“You find some teeth for Norbert?”
“They was no good. Fell apart. You know they got to be old.”
“Don’t worry about it. I got it taken care of.” Biggs walked back to the van. “You get the gold like I told you?”
“Was gettin’ ready to get the gold when the asshole walked up.”
“Let’s do it now. I want to hurry up and get the fuck out of here. I don’t care for this place anymore than you do.”
“So how come we come here, then?”
“How many times do we have to go over this? We can’t keep dumping bodies in the same part of town. Valley PD know about Lopez Canyon, so that’s out. A graveyard like this is about the best place for it—it was, anyway. The Pedroza guy the drunk mentioned—the cemeterian—might wonder what’s going on when he realizes his transient buddy is missing.”
“An’ if the wino knowed some peeps, they gonna be aksking what happened to him.”
“There’s always that possibility.”
“We didn’t even get no trim from that fine Chicana. Don’t that piss you off?”
“Sure it does. Might still do something about it after we get Slim and Bertha down in the grave.”
“Bet you one thang, dead or alive, that ho still be a good piece of pussy.”
“So now you’re interested in banging the dead? That it? As I recall, you were put off by it. You prefer to bang them while they’re breathing, as I recall.”
“I ain’t innerested in bangin’ no dead ho. Thought you could be. You the one likes to stick yo dick in them stiff’.”
“Well, Free Ride, whether you participate or not, I just might lay that dead cunt over one of these graves here and give her a good workout before we dump her body in the hole. Have to admit, though, won’t be as much fun. Sure, I don’t mind them dead; only there’s no denying I enjoy the crying and carrying on just as much. I like to see that look in their eyes just before they die, at the point of dying. That makes it the best for me. I love reliving that moment. There’s nothing like it. Nothing compares.” He cursed at himself. “I hit her too fucking hard, that’s all.”
“I seen you lots of time’ bang dead vagina an’ you be likin’ it. I don’t get why you be bothered just ’cause the ho be chill.”
“I just got through telling you: it was over way too fast. Never got the chance to make the bitch suffer.”
It took their combined strength to drag the blood-stained laundry bag Big Bertha’s body was in toward the back door. It irked him to see the bags crud-encrusted and in such sorry and soiled state. Her bag would have to be washed later for sure, so would the one Slim was in, no doubt. One more chore. Doing laundry was never fun. Couldn’t trust Greta to do it right. Green bags came in handy and would have to be kept for future use.
It took effort. They rolled the bag back. Got the server out of it, all two hundred ninety-nine hefty pounds of her.
“This is going to be hard work.” Biggs wondered how much more his back would be able to take. Caution was required here, not that caution made much difference every time.
They each grabbed an arm. Tugged and pulled. Cursed and gasped. Kept at it until the body was just about completely out of the van. They gave it their all for that one last, final effort. Big Bertha hit the ground with a tremendous thud.
“Two ninety-nine. Ho be like one of them Blue Ribbon swine; somethin’ like Parfrey.”
“Parfrey never won any ribbons, that I know of, it’s still nothing short of an insult to compare a worthless, smelly bitch like this to a much loved pet like Parfrey.”
Bertha was dragged part of the way, carried part of the way. Sweat dripped from their brows. This was labor. Had her at the grave at last. Rolled her into it. The body crashed through the coffin lid below. Marvin wiped his face with a shirttail.
“We got to find some light mothafuckahs to ice next time, man, no shit. Ho be too big.”
Biggs tossed him pliers.
“Get down there. Excavate.”
CHAPTER 342
Marvin lowered himself into the hole. Biggs returned to the van. Needed to do some excavating of his own for the five gold choppers in Slim Jessup’s jaw. Lifted the blanket. Shone the Maglite. It was clear enough: the laundry bag the Duarte cunt was supposed to be in had nothing in it. Empty. It was empty. And a mixture of rage and relief/good feeling went through him: relief and good feeling because it meant that she was still alive, hadn’t died back there, had simply been faking it, played possum. There were thrills to look forward to after all.
It was not so much that he had minded the heifer dying, when he thought that he had killed her, but the aching fact that he had not participated in her demise enough, had not had the great opportunity to draw it out, make it last, to satisfy himself first this way. He had felt so damned deprived up to this point when it came to her, especially after all that work and planning, the cold sweats in the diner booth, beating Slim to death, the tremendous struggle with Bertha Lenier, had all been rather strenuous, enjoyable but strenuous, and all for Olivia Duarte, because he had hungered after her so much, the way he had hungered and lusted after Pearleen Bell all that time, had wanted desperately to get his hands on that exotic-looking young cunt Olivia Duarte, that young, ball-busting whore who possessed everything, in his eyes, that made a cunt enticing and quite literally good enough to eat. Not to mention she was a witness, was the last one to see Pearleen and her friends in his place.
Okay now, how far could she have gone? He locked the shotgun in the toolbox. Wouldn’t need it. Had the Colt. Flashed the light on the ground. Saw nothing. Could Muck have done something with her? He doubted it. Wouldn’t have had the time. While he was in the shed. Would have had the opportunity then. What would have been the point? The better question would be: What’s the point in asking a question like that?
He walked to the edge of the grave.
“Where’s the other bitch?”
“What other bitch?”
“What did you do with her?”
“The Messican?”
“Where is she?”
“If the ho don’t be in the van, she walk’ off, then—if the dead can walk. Or them Wile E. Coyote drug her off.”
Biggs stood there, turned, and made it back to where he was before at the Party Wagon’s open back doors. He shone his Maglite on the ground, looking to pick up a trail: flattened weeds, traces of blood; maybe hair caught on bramble, maybe more: the smell of her. He followed what he picked up. Biggs was not in any hurry, either. She’s not going anywhere.
CHAPTER 343
For Marvin R. Muck, trying to turn over two-ton Big Bertha Lenier in that small, cramped space was just as tough as carrying her over and dumping her down into it had been, if not tougher, and twice as frustrating.
Marvin did his best to adjust her upper body to a sitting position so that he might have more room to maneuver around in. His legs kept getting caught between all those bones down there on the bottom of the coffin, bones and the dead drifter’s legs, not to mention splinters. Cheap-ass coffins.
It seemed he couldn’t move an inch or two without being poked in his thighs and lower legs. Fuckin’ Omar
should be helpin’ out wiff this shit. I be workin’ my ass off here, me.
He positioned himself between Big Bertha’s legs, had them spread apart, as far apart as the confined space permitted.
Marvin aimed his flashlight at the blood-covered, mutilated face. Her jaw was closed and he would need to find a way to pry it open and keep it that way. Broke off a small piece of the coffin frame and wedged the wood in a corner of her mouth between upper and lower jaw to keep her mouth wide open long enough to work his pliers in there and get at the three gold choppers. Big Bertha had two gold on top, one on the bottom. He clamped his pliers around her upper teeth and yanked, and out came the gold, along with a portion of her upper gum that made him just about retch.
“What a man gotta do just to get by in this fucked-up society.”
Something lizard-like rushed up his left leg and nearly made him drop the pliers and the gold. He cursed. Yelped when the lizard found itself up near his crotch. The jockey shorts kept the family jewels safe enough; still, it was a bitch to have this thing so close to his balls.
He found himself pushing off of Big Bertha’s body down to about her waist. Was looking down at his pant leg, shaking the left leg. Took periodic whacks at his inner thigh. Kept shaking and cursing.
“What the fuck you want? What chu after, man? Yo!”
He slapped at the inside of his thigh some more, just below his testicles. Kicked the leg out and watched a small lizard scurry out of his pants and burrow under the coffin—and suddenly Big Bertha’s heavy thighs closed in around Marvin’s neck and he couldn’t budge. Had no place to go.
He flailed away blindly at her face and neck with the pliers for what good it did him, because the woman’s thighs only got tighter. As if this weren’t bad enough, she seemed to be expelling gas. Sho ’nuff. Big Mama be farting. Nearly gone, but there she was: gas comin’ outta her funky ass. Just like at the diner.
Marvin gasped for breath. Cried out Cecil’s name. Tried to. Couldn’t so much as lift his head to look up out of the grave.
“Lemme go, bitch. Cut me loose, skunk-pussy ho. You was supposta be dead! You be dead, ho!”
Big Bertha held on. There was no way for Marvin to get those muscular thighs to unlock.
“I need air! Cecil! Cecil, help! Omar! This nigga ho be killin’ me, man! Omar!”
CHAPTER 344
Olivia had crawled behind a tombstone, pulled herself to a sitting position, and was resting her head back against the marble with her eyes shut.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, but there was no way to wipe them away, unless she made the effort to bring either shoulder up and do it this way; tears and blood. Rest was something she needed desperately, especially after having struggled to scratch some things, a brief message, her name and her family’s home telephone number, into a previous tombstone, should someone happen along sometime and see it.
It had been one of those far-fetched notions, not unlike grasping at straws, that deep down she did not expect much to come from. Still, she had done her best to accomplish it, etched words into the tombstone with a rock with her hands cuffed, as they were, behind her back. Then she had done her very best to move away from it, to put distance between her and that other grave—from fear that either Muck or Cecil Biggs might happen across it and see it—and distort it, cover it up entirely. And if she were killed by them, no one would ever know anything about it. This is what went on inside her head, among many other thoughts and ideas—and deep down unwillingness to give up the battle for her life.
So there she was, at this present grave, wracking her brains in order to figure out which direction to head in.
First, though, there was the Band-Aid gag that she needed to do something about. Had a difficult time breathing. The gag had to go. She rubbed her face back and forth against the tombstone and did finally manage to scrape the gag off and free up her mouth. Thought she heard something as the Band-Aid dropped off. Were they coming? They would be soon enough. She was sure of it. Sat forever still. Dared not so much as breathe. The cuffs had tightened to such a degree that they had dug into the skin, drawing blood. In fact, she had used some of her own blood to compose her message back there at that other grave. Her palms and fingers were sticky with blood. Thought she heard a twig snap, a faint rustle nearby in the leaves on the ground and brush, or was it the wind? Was it? What would she do now? Was it them? Or some animal?
CHAPTER 345
When her eyes opened, she was looking up—and saw the killer clown standing above her with that twisted smile on his sweaty face. With his free hand, he reached down and pulled her up by the cuffs. He pressed her face against his, wanting her to smell his cruddy breath.
“Where do you think you’re going? How far did you expect to get?”
She gasped. Her throat dry. Unable to say anything.
“I’m just so damned thrilled to see that you’re alive. That’s the truth, sweetheart; my ‘Agenda Marie.’ That’s what you’ll be from now on: my Agenda Marie. I’m just happy to see that you’re doing so well. Ever since we left the diner I thought for sure I had smacked you too hard, thought I had finished you probably; concluded I’d be fucking a corpse if I still wanted any part of you. And here you are. Can you understand the effort? All that work that went into dealing with Mr. Slim Jessup and Big Bertha Lenier simply because I could no longer wait to get my hands on you? Can you try? Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Olivia’s fear was at such a high level that her teeth practically chattered and she was unable to speak. Biggs had more. Enjoyed the telling. “Especially after getting my taste when your family had you sleeping in that room on the first floor. Diddling your cunt with my finger wasn’t enough—well, it was enough to drive me nuts and ache for more; enough to make me want to possess you—completely. But they got wise, didn’t they? Your parents? Detected the chloroform—and moved you up to that room on the second floor.”
Biggs opened his billfold to reveal several dog-eared color photos he had taken of her during her high school days as a cheerleader, as well as other photos of her playing softball.
“That’s how much you mean to me. Over four long years of biding my time, hoping, scheming, and finally getting the nerve up to go all out—to kick ass, go for broke. Can you comprehend any of this, bitch? Huh, Agenda Marie?” He paused to catch his breath and allow the adrenaline rush to taper off.
“You’ll never leave me again. This time we’re together for keeps. We get married, and we stay married. What’s the purpose of saying ‘I do,’ if we don’t? It frustrated the hell out of me when I saw that Perez had no idea how to handle you; wasn’t man enough to overpower you and exert the kind of control it takes to keep a bitch like you in line.” He folded the wallet and jammed it in his back pocket. He gripped the top of her blood- and dirt-stained polyester server’s dress with both hands and ripped it down the middle. He’d leave it on her, though, the pink bra and panties, too. A soiled, live fuck doll in a soiled and torn brown server’s dress. Increased the enticement factor. No denying it.
CHAPTER 346
Olivia said silent prayers, prayers she’d been taught in Sunday school over the years. She prayed for her family, she prayed and made every effort to lose herself in prayer, to devote her very being, every bit of her soul to her praying now, to the Lord.
She was not the one being abused in this manner; it was only her body that this was being done to—her physical being—and not her heart and soul and mind. Her soul is what mattered; that was the important thing to remember. She was old enough and smart enough to know this and believe it. She would never allow anyone to defile the very essence of her existence—and in being aware of this, she knew she could survive anything.
It’s only your body that’s being defiled, dirtied. Your soul is untouched. No matter what anyone does to you—your soul they cannot touch. Will never touch. Will never, ever taint.
CHAPTER 347
Biggs had his purple-veined groin out with the visible sc
ars along the shaft. There was a black mole on the head of it the size of a pencil eraser.
He stroked himself. Squeezed the base and watched the long veins get bigger and bluer, watched all that blood begin to pump up. He moved around and drew it up close against her face, wanting her to see it grow, only his groin wasn’t growing fast enough for him. He clamped his left hand around her throat and began to choke her.
“See the black mole? Right there on the head. Some cunts are disgusted by it. Me? I’m used to it. I may not have as much as that imbecile Marvin. What I do have will have to do.”
He kept choking her. Heard her gasp.
“Spit on it, bitch.”
She tried. Made the effort between choking sounds. Her mouth was dry.
“Spit on it, or I’ll snap your fucking neck.”
She was able to gather up enough saliva in her mouth to cover his partially erect penis with. He rubbed the head of his cock. Squeezed the base again. Cupped his testicles, and then parted her mouth and slid his cock in there. In a while, he was at full mast. Erect.
“Suck the poison out. Suck it out of me. Meds they’ve been feeding me over the years. Suck the toxins out of my nutsack.”
He warned her to watch her teeth. She didn’t seem to know what she was doing.
“That’s the trouble with virgins. Don’t know shit about shagging. But you’ll learn. There’s time. You’ll either learn, or you’ll die. Not out here. Not now. Don’t worry about it. Doing this for that punk Perez. Got to take things in this world. Want something? Take it. Rape it. Butcher and bake it.”
He withdrew from her mouth. Kept his hand on her neck and pulled her up to her feet. Guided her to the nearest tombstone and had her lean over it, her forehead and hands against the flat top of the granite. Biggs pressed himself against her buttocks and parted the pink panties and pubic hair with his other hand.
