The Front Range Butcher

by R Weir

  He was getting antsy. Wanting to find a new prize to look for. Sitting around and watching the second hand ticking away was not helping. He cursed himself for buying that fancy wall-mounted analog clock. He needed to do something. Anything to fill his head.

  Time was passed looking at where he would search next. Far away from Golden, but not in a place of his other victims. He narrowed it down to two locations in the metro area—biding his time on when to begin the hunt. It wasn’t easy playing the waiting game after losing his last female gem.

  With a spinning brain, he headed outside to his car. Needing supplies, food and toiletries, he travelled to a local Target Superstore. Once inside he did his shopping, pushing around the red plastic shopping cart, his eyes on all the female patrons and employees. Most wouldn’t make good subjects, but a small few were breathtaking specimens; choices he wanted to reach out and grab and drag home. But he resisted, no matter the temptation.

  One of the female employees came up asking if he needed help. Smiling, he queried where the bread was, even though he knew the location. Her name badge said “Jill” and she had a marvelous face, with smooth skin, long, blonde hair, and a full body that was tucked into tight jeans, a beige top and bright red Target provided apron. She led the way and he followed her, wondering what it would be like to have her on the table, crying and begging for his mercy. Words that made his heart race with excitement. He thanked her, finding what he was looking for on the shelf. She put her hand on his sleeve for a split second, saying, “Anytime” and then walked away.

  He found himself mesmerized, wanting to make her, his. But he couldn’t do it yet. He had to wait. It was part of the pact, not to act too quickly, especially after screwing up and choosing a victim he couldn’t handle. One who had escaped. One who might be able to ID him. Waiting was hard, but it had to be done. Next time he would be more careful. Still he might be back, to find Jill again and see where it leads.

  He finished his shopping, paid, picking a register with a woman, finding another who could fit the bill if Jill didn’t work out. Once outside, he sat in his car for a long time, hoping to get another glimpse, before going home as darkness set in, both in the night sky and his soul.

  Chapter 35

  The car I was watching was a late model dark blue BMW. The owner lived in Morrison, a foothills town west of Denver. The plate number came back with an address and an owner’s name; Charlie Getty. He was living in a large multi-storied house on Spring Street. His car was one of several vehicles there, so I wasn’t sure if he was the owner or renting out space. It was early in the morning, with little or no activity. The area was wide open, and it was difficult not to stand out. Thankfully I had decided my Mustang was too easy to spot for anyone looking, so I’d rented a plain beige Ford Focus, which was like pretty much any other car on the road.

  It was a surprisingly cool morning, with an early taste of fall in the air; one of the few times since the Autumnal Equinox arrived it had felt that way. Here, at a higher altitude, the trees were starting to show color changes, the leaves beginning to turn in spots of gold. The breeze added to the coolness, and even though the temp still showed in the fifties, I was tempted to turn on the heater, but my macho blood told me not to wuss out.

  Sitting in the car for a long time was difficult. I had the seat back all the way, but still could not stretch out enough. My leg muscles ached and were stiff, as was my upper torso, though no longer needing the rib wrap. My face was healing. It still showed the bruising, now with a darker array of red and blue, but I had sunglasses and my favorite Rockies ball cap to provide a disguise, with comfortable blue jeans and long sleeve shirt. A leather jacket sat on the seat next to me, but again my maleness got in the way of putting it on, no matter the frosty air. Next to the jacket was a soft side-cooler with water and sandwiches to carry me through the day. There were no facilities nearby for bathroom breaks, but there were plenty of open fields in the area when nature called to empty a full bladder.

  Nearby, Rocky was on call, loitering out of sight in his car. He was good at sitting and waiting, resting with little energy spent, ready to spring to action when necessary. He had been a powerful resource in the past, with skills I could depend on. Little was known about him, about how he’d gotten into the business, or even what his business was. Enforcer, leg breaker, maybe even a thug in some eyes, was a good guess. He could have been a white knight in shining armor for all I knew. I never pried into his business, respecting his privacy, thrilled to have him as an ally and available to accomplish the task at hand, for his skills were unmatched. I would keep him up-to-date, via phone messaging, and if we had to follow Getty, we could do it in tandem, without getting spotted.

  I wasn’t sure what my plan was once I spotted him. Beating on him until he talked had been an option. One that could yield results but might not give me as much if I watched and waited. One can learn a lot by observing another’s actions. Maybe it would even lead me to his companions. Then I might beat on them with the same zest as they did to me. For now, I would listen to music and pass the time, occasionally getting out of the car to stretch my entire body to stay limber, ready to strike when the time was right.

  At about 11 a.m. a tall man with light brown shoulder length hair came outside and got in the BMW. He was wearing black jeans, mauve dress shirt and brown cowboy boots. I could be wrong, but the tips of those boots looked a lot like some of the marks on my body. I flashed back to moments in the attack, remembering footwear digging into my sides, the memories sending chills down my spine and a dull ache from my ribs. I texted Rocky that our target was on the move and headed his way.

  He didn’t go too far, ending up on Bear Creek Avenue, not more than a mile away, on the main strip of Morrison. When I say main strip, in this town, it is maybe five blocks long, with a few old buildings still standing and housing the city’s main businesses. One of those was Morrison Fiesta Tavern, which he wandered into. I found a parking spot across the street and contemplated my options. It seemed a little early to be drinking, though one never knew for certain. They likely had food, so it could be a lunch stop.

  I waited more than an hour, but still he didn’t come out. I texted Rocky to see if he wanted to check the place out and get a drink. He responded by getting out of his Corvette now parked down several spots from me, and we both walked across the street to the entrance.

  Once inside there was a man sitting at the front who nodded at us when we entered. He was of substantial size, a body-builder it would seem, and likely a bouncer, making sure the patrons behaved. I wasn’t a small man, but he was maybe a hair smaller than Rocky, who seemed to get bigger every time I saw him. His wide chest, muscular arms and long flowing hair always got everyone’s attention.

  The bouncer smiled, seeming to sense Rocky’s skill set and commented in a calm voice, “no trouble, please.”

  Rocky nodded to reassure him, as did I, though it didn’t seem he was too concerned about me. Which was fine, I had lived off people underestimating my skill set. We found a table, the place mostly empty. To call it a dive was kind. The inside was rundown, though not in total disrepair, but the owners obviously hadn’t spent a lot on upkeep and possibly even cherished the atmosphere that was created as a result. The tables were solid wood, but in need of refinishing, with gouges and lots of gum on the underside. The chairs, made of the same wood, were faded and beat-up as well, but solid to sit on, though hardly comfortable. There were a couple of flat-screen TV’s, although small by bar standards, and of low quality, with the washed-out colors making it hard to tell which team was playing. The bar was long, with eight ripped padded seats, two of which were occupied, one customer’s head was already resting on the black top. Above hung beer glasses, the mirror area behind barely seen with all the various bottles of liquor neatly lined up for easy access.

  Behind the counter stood Charlie Getty with little to do. With some satisfaction, I could see a mark on his face where I had hit him with the helmet. He appare
ntly worked here and for now was passing the time, his eye on the closest TV. His chosen profession: barkeep, and possible part-time enforcer. He paid us no mind, not caring who we were. I was apprehensive, not sure if he’d remember me or not, but, for now at least, his thoughts were on the baseball game.

  It was maybe fifteen minutes when a forty something woman finally strolled over to take our order. She was a little on the heavy side, blonde-brown curly long hair, wearing blue jean shorts with holes in them, and a tight cleavage revealing rose tank top, leaving little to the imagination since she wore no bra. With pad and paper in hand, she leered at Rocky.

  “Sorry I took so long,” she said, while bumping up against him. “I was busy in the back. What can I get for you handsome men?”

  Looking around, it was hard to imagine what she was busy doing, since only two other people were here, and one was out cold. Though she did smell of beer, so unless she had some spilled on her, she likely was enjoying a cool one.

  “Two from the tap,” said Rocky, with his best smile.

  She listed off the options, of which there were three.

  “Surprise us,” he said.

  “Anything you say, sweetie,” she replied, while rubbing up against him like a cat, before walking away.

  “Seems she’s taking a shine to you,” I said.

  “If you comment about acting like a couple again, I’ll pop you in the mouth.”

  This time I laughed, the rib pain bearable. “No. I was going to say we can use that to our advantage. Smitten, horny women can be chatty. Those with a few beers in them, which from her fragrance is likely, can be as well. From the throng of patrons, I’d say she’d have time for a little of your charm. Or did you use it all up on the landlord?”

  “My charm has no limits. How far do I need to go?” He winked, but under the bravado he looked a little green. The waitress was no prize.

  “I imagine she’d jump on your lap and take you right here if offered, but let’s keep it to harmless flirting, to learn more about our man behind the bar. Keep her on the hook with some good verbal foreplay. Besides I’d be afraid you might catch something from her.”

  “Are you saying she isn’t a virgin?” He feigned offended horror.

  She returned with drinks and dropped the tab on the table. I looked at it and there was her phone number listed for him, with “Call Me” written in big letters, which I showed him with a smirk.

  “Nice offer,” he said to her. “What is your name?”

  “Serenity. What is yours?” She purred.

  “Rocky.”

  “Oh my. I certainly can see why.” She leaned into him again and grabbed his arm, feeling his muscle, which he flexed. I expected her to climb in his lap at any second.

  “Are you serene, Serenity?” he asked.

  “Hardly. Especially with a stud like you.”

  “You’re so kind. I wonder if we can talk some. Do you have some time?”

  “As you can see, there aren’t many customers, not that it mattered. I’d give you all the time you need. What do you want to ask?”

  He grabbed a stool and pulled it close, patting it so she could sit down next to him.

  “Are you from around here?”

  “Born and raised. Lived with my parents who had a parcel of land raising horses. They sold out when the area started to expand. I have a small place not too far from here. Maybe you can stop by and visit.” I expected to see her drooling any minute now.

  “I’ll keep that in mind. How long have you worked here?”

  “Too long. But it pays well enough and if I dress right the tips are good. Are you a good tipper?”

  Rocky pulled out his wallet, grabbed a twenty and tucked it in the cleavage of her tank top. She seemed to get breathless at his touch.

  “Does that answer your question?”

  “Absolutely. You’d be amazed what I’d do for a guy who spends money on me.”

  Her nipples were showing arousal, nearly poking through the thin fabric. I was surprised she still had clothes on, the way he was seducing her.

  “What can you tell me about the two men who work here? The guy at the front looks pretty tough.”

  She looked over at him and then back at Rocky, seeming to compare them.

  “He is tough enough for this place. Not too many who roll in here he can’t handle. Though I’d say he’d be no match for you.”

  “I’m a pussy cat most of the time. Especially around dames like you. What about the guy behind the bar?”

  Rocky was playing it perfectly, as I sat back and watched, trying not to smirk.

  She scoffed. “You mean Chuck? He is a limp-dick. Not tough at all. He’s a good bartender, but not an ass kicker like you appear to be.”

  “Has he worked here long?”

  “A year or so I’d say.” She leaned into him again, savoring the contact. “Why do you ask?”

  “Seems like I remember him from somewhere. Maybe he hangs around with some other guys I know. I can’t seem to place it.”

  “He does have some buddies that come in from time to time. Not sure if I remember their names. They are lousy tippers though and mean. One likes to light up his cigarette at the bar. I constantly have to remind him to go outside. Don’t need to get in trouble with the city.”

  “Can you describe him?” I asked, interrupting their dance.

  She looked at me, shocked I’d spoken. “I was beginning to think you were a mute.”

  “Just shy.”

  She grinned, showing stained teeth. “Too bad. I might have had a friend for you.”

  “Rocky is the spokesman and lover of the group. I ride his coattails.” I smiled at her and Rocky rolled his eyes.

  I’m not sure if she laughed or not, as the sound that came out of her wasn’t normal. It was more like a cross between a rasping cough and a choking snicker.

  “I can see why. Though you weren’t in his league, you wouldn’t get kicked out of my bed if he wasn’t here. My friend would jump you in a heartbeat.”

  I faked the grin, continuing to play the part, wondering if there had ever been a time I’d have stooped low enough to have gone for her or the friend. I was happy April had come along and rescued me from those days.

  “A couple more beers and I might be up for a party.” I pushed my beer towards her. “Can you tell us about his friends?”

  Party got her attention as she grabbed the mug and took a long drink, wiping the suds from her lips seductively, or so she thought. Inwardly I shuddered.

  “I don’t know. Tall, pretty good looking, with nice hair and teeth. Dresses nice. Nicer than most do in here. Like I said, though, the one that smokes is kind of an ass.”

  “You said they stop in from time to time,” stated Rocky. “Any time in particular?”

  “Usually here around Chuck’s quitting time. Six or so. Mostly on Friday’s I’ll see them, but it varies. Chuck gets off work, they drink a few and go out and raise some hell from what I’ve heard.”

  “I thought Chuck was a wuss?” I said.

  “He is by himself. But with those guys, he is different. Acts tougher. They are there to back him up. Easy to be tough when you have three on one.”

  “Are you saying they like to gang up on people?” I asked. They were starting to sound more and more like my guys.

  “Don’t know for certain. Just something I heard.”

  “Any idea what they do for a living?” I continued to probe.

  “The guy that smokes, I believe works for some hotshot in town. Not sure doing what. But that is all I heard.”

  Rocky grabbed the bill and wrote his phone number on it and slid it over to her.

  “Any chance you can give us a ring the next time they come in?” he said.

  “What is in it for me?” she asked with a purr.

  Rocky looked at me, since I was the money man. I’d have to pony up the cash, but I could offer even more.

  “Fifty dollars and the opportunity to ride the Rocky Express
to heaven,” I said joyfully, earning a sideward glare from Rocky.

  Her face went flush with excitement. “No need for the fifty. The ride will be satisfying enough.”

  “Let’s start with the fifty and see what develops from there,” Rocky countered. “Who knows my man here might double your pleasure.” Rocky patted me on the shoulder. The gamesmanship was afoot.

  If she heard him, I couldn’t tell, as by the faraway look in her eyes, her mind seemed to be fantasizing about the Rocky Express. I paid the check with another twenty and we walked out leaving her to her dirty thoughts.

  Once outside Rocky stopped me.

  “You owe me twenty and a whole lot more,” he said with his hand out and a sour look on his face.

  I couldn’t argue and pulled out my wallet.

  Chapter 36

  The next day Rocky called me.

  “I’m going to have to change my cell number,” he said, sounding perturbed.

  “She is calling you quite a bit, eh?”

  “Nearly every hour. Wondering when I’ll be in to see her.”

  “Wanting to ride that Rocky Express.” I tried not to laugh.

  “Damn you for saying it.”

  “Are you saying it isn’t true?”

  There was a loud groan. “Of course, it’s true. But she is never riding it. Not my speed.”

  “I think a t-shirt with that expression would sell like hotcakes. Could put me on the fast track.”