Box Set: Scary Stories- Vols. 3 & 4 (Chamber Of Horror Book 8)

by Billy Wells

  “I was at a crime scene last year when you were on vacation where Bloody Bob trashed a room like this. As I recall, they charged twenty-five Gs to restore that hotel suite.”

  “Twenty-five Gs? For Christ ‘s sake, where do I sign up?”

  They laughed. Several of the crime scene crew looked at them oddly, obviously not appreciating any attempt at levity as one of them placed the victim’s hand in a plastic evidence bag.

  When Edgars and Bullwinkle received the initial ME's report later that afternoon, it confirmed their suspicions. The woman was the fourteenth victim of Bloody Bob, whose reign of terror had lasted seven years. The Tribune had been mercilessly crucifying the police because of their failure to catch the elusive serial killer. Several of the shock jocks on the radio had a stockpile of jokes ridiculing the handling of the case by everyone involved.

  Rumor had it the governor had leaned on the mayor to fire both the commissioner and the police chief twice for incompetence to take the heat off himself. During his current election campaign, he had spent 43 million dollars of his daddy’s money to get reelected for another term. Unfortunately for him, he was running behind his opponent in most districts. The scuttlebutt on the street was the governor would not be reelected for a third term if Bloody Bob remained at large on Election Day, which was only two months away.

  That night when Edgars arrived at his small bungalow and went inside, he winced when he saw his fat fuck of a brother-in-law, Herbert, sprawled in his favorite recliner watching TV. He gave him the stare of death, and the bloated hulk got the message and moved to a side chair.

  What an annoying bastard. Edgars thought. The moocher had been sponging off him for more than six months. He was so ugly nobody would hire him, except the local funeral home. He was a gofer there, and from time to time, he helped prepare corpses for burial and assisted in embalming and cremation.

  During a commercial, Edgars thought of the obscene fees Homicide Cleaning was getting to clean up horrific crime scenes and said, “Herbert, I saw a messy crime scene today, and it reminded me of you.”

  “Another cheap shot,” Herbert said sarcastically.

  “No, I'm serious. How would you like to make some real money? Maybe actually have a place of your own for a change. You might even score with a few babes if you had a car and bought some decent clothes.”

  “Fat chance," he groaned. “Who do I have to kill?”

  “You do some nasty stuff at the funeral home. Right? Probably for peanuts. Right?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Tell me if I'm wrong. Let's say some dude is obliterated in a head-on collision with a Mack truck.”

  “We had one like that yesterday,” Herbert interrupted.

  “See. What did you do when the meat wagon delivered what was left of him?”

  “I cleaned him up for the burial. He was really fucked up. They couldn’t have an open casket. When the truck crushed the Kia like a matchbox, this black dude's body was shredded. He looked like he went through a meat grinder.”

  “And how much did old Mr. Personality over at the Funeral Parlor pay you for cleaning him up?”

  “I probably got about fifty bucks.”

  “How would you like to make five-thousand dollars for two or three days work.”

  “Five thousand dollars! I'd kill my own mother for that kind of money.”

  “Don't let Mabel hear you say that, even if it's true. Look, Herbert. I want you and me to start a new business, but I have to be a silent partner. I don’t want anyone to know I’m involved if I’m going to solicit jobs for the business.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  “No. You come in after the murderer is gone to clean up the mess he left. We'll rent a small office in a strip mall, buy some cleaning supplies, and I’ll print some business cards. We’ll need to hire a painting contractor and an exterminator to help us on some of the really horrendous crime scenes, particularly the ones where Bloody Bob gets his jollies torturing his victim.”

  “I’ve done a little painting,” Herbert said timidly.

  Edgars ignored this and continued, “I know some people who might hire us, particularly, other cops. Once they receive my recommendation, and I tell them my brother-in-law has gone into business, some of the officers who call Homicide Cleaning now will start calling us. At least once to try us. When they call, no one must know I’m your partner.”

  “I’m no good at talking to people,” Herbert said dejectedly. “I couldn’t sell a bucket of water to a man on fire.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be dealing with the money.”

  “Won’t they recognize your voice on the phone?”

  “Did you ever hear my impression of John Wayne or Jimmy Stewart?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Listen to this. “Now Pilgrim, understand. Anything goes wrong, anything at all… your fault, my fault, nobody’s fault… it don’t matter…I’m gonna blow your head off.”

  “Nice,” Herbert said, turning away to roll his eyes. “Why would they hire a special service anyway?”

  “I don’t know exactly. Apparently, normal people don’t want to get their hands bloody. Anyway, there’s a lot of money in it and very little competition. I heard the only company in town that does this kind of work charges a fortune. Sometimes as much as ten thousand dollars. If you want to be my partner, I'll give you half.”

  “You will?“

  “I want to be fair. Maybe if I live long enough, I can have my house back so I can watch football and fuck Mabel without you snoring in the next room. How does it sound?”

  “Fantastic, Alan. It sounds too good to be true.”

  “Does the sight of blood make you queasy?”

  “No. Blood doesn't bother me. I could swim in it for five thousand dollars.”

  “What about bodies all hacked up? Missing arms and legs? Sweeping eyeballs off the floor?”

  “No problem, Alan. I see mangled corpses every week or so at Fuddruckers Funeral Home.”

  “Okay. I'll have some business cards made, rent a van and a closet in some strip mall for a temporary address, and we'll be in business.”

  “Great, Alan! I can't wait.”

  Edgars was tired of being average. He wanted to be comfortable in his retirement, which wasn’t that many years away. He decided to call the business Homicide Maintenance. On the business card, he included the following, “When there's gore on the floor, you can snore and be sure with Homicide Maintenance. Herbert Loozer, CFO. Years of maintenance experience, funeral arrangements, exterminating, and paint contracting.”

  A month later Bloody Bob struck again.

  In the meantime, Edgars had posted signs about his new business at every precinct. He was particularly glad he had never introduced his brother-in-law to anyone. Herbert had always been a weird person. He had a huge nose and big ears. He always looked surprised. His eyes bulged from their sockets as if they were about to explode. Herbert was actually one of the ugliest men he’d ever seen. So much so, he was ashamed to introduce him to anyone he knew. If they had ever seen him in the flesh, they probably wouldn't give him a job.

  The latest murder of a young woman occurred at another luxury hotel. It was a notch down from the Elite Astoria, but not a fleabag by any means. It was definitely upscale enough for Edgars to make a play for the cleanup job. He called everyone he could think of connected to the case and hoped for the best. He told Bullwinkle to get started with the investigation, and he would join him shortly after taking care of a few personal matters.

  He was about to leave for the crime scene, when his business phone rang for the first time. Edgars answered, bubbling over with excitement, but tried not to sound that way. He hadn't hired an answering service yet, so he disguised his voice and tried to exude professionalism. “Homicide Maintenance,” he said in his most formal tone.”

  “This is Jenks calling from the Precinct. There's been a murder at the Elegant Suites Hotel, and it's a bloody mess. We think Bloo
dy Bob is up to his old tricks. The Commissioner is going to have a coronary when he finds out. Anyway, we heard from Lieutenant Alan Edgars that you do good work, and we thought we would give you a chance if you can squeeze it in. Can you give me a ballpark estimate of what you might charge?”

  “You say it's really bloody?” Edgars said, applying a little John Wayne military twang in his delivery, but not too much.

  “Awful. The worst I’ve ever seen.”

  “Would the room need to be painted in addition to cleaned?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “How big is the space?”

  “Oh, I’d say five hundred square feet.”

  “It must be a pretty nice suite.”

  “It is.”

  “Last time there were bedbugs. Will you be needing exterminating services this time?”

  “I don't know. The blood and the decapitation held our attention more than any bugs.”

  “I want to give you a special price to show you what I can do. Let's say fifteen thousand dollars.”

  “You got it,” Jenks said with a sealing-the-deal finality. ”Homicide Cleaning wanted twenty-two thousand, but they’re a bunch of cutthroats. Maybe they’ll come down on their prices now they have competition. All I can say is it better be squeaky clean when you're finished. Clean enough so I can eat off the floor. And remember, send the invoice to me for approval, not to the hotel.”

  “No problem, Officer Jenks. You know our motto, ‘When there's gore on the floor, you can snore, not be poor, and still be sure with Homicide Maintenance at your door.’ When can I come out?”

  “I'll put you down for tomorrow morning about 9 o'clock. The lab boys will be gone by then. You will have to work around the yellow tape.”

  “No problem.”

  Edgars heard a click. Damn, I wonder if Herbert can pull this off. He called him with the news.

  “Herbert, we just got our first job. It’s tomorrow morning. Don't embarrass me. The rental van will be out front at 8 o’clock. Bring the cleaning supplies out to the sidewalk. Be sure to wear the uniform and the hat I bought with the Homicide Maintenance lettering on them. If anyone is at the crime scene, say as little as possible. I'll stop by about noon to see how you're doing. Any questions?

  “Do you think I'll get five thousand for the cleanup?”

  Edgars paused and considered this. Then he said like someone had just died, “Sorry, Herbert. I had to give our first customer a discount to get our foot in the door. This time you'll only get thirty-seven-fifty.”

  “Well, That still sounds pretty good to me.”

  “Do you think you can paint the rooms after you clean off the blood and gore?”

  “No problem. For thirty-seven hundred and fifty dollars, I'd give a big ugly football player a blow job.”

  “Please! Herbert. Don't ever let Mabel hear you say things like that. Do you know anything about plumbing?”

  “I was a plumber’s helper for a while.”

  “We might need a little plumbing.”

  “I'll see what I can do.”

  “Okay, Herbert. I'm counting on you.”

  Edgars hung up, praying the knucklehead could rise to the occasion, and headed for the crime scene.

  After a long hard day of puking and walking the grid of the crime scene with the forensic crew and Bullwinkle, Edgars went home and fell into bed.

  About noon the next day, Edgars left his Crown Vic with the hotel valet and went to the seventh floor. He saw the crime scene tape halfway down the hall when he got off the elevator. He saw a dumpster half filled with bloody bedclothes, pieces of drywall, and a big roll of stained carpets. Several pails and paint cans lined the walls. When he reached Room 719, he smelled enamel, not the stench of blood, piss, and fecal matter.

  Looking inside, he saw Herbert on a ladder applying paint on the wall with a roller. The carpet was gone, and he couldn't see a trace of blood anywhere. He did see tape on the walls where new drywall had been inserted and a layer of spackling covering the seams.

  “Damn, Herbert. This place looks good. I can't believe it. You really are good at this shit.”

  “I'd cut off my little finger and eat it for thirty-seven hundred and fifty dollars.”

  “Christ, Herbert! Stop saying stuff like that. Someone might hear you and call in the men with the straitjackets.”

  After the spackling dries and I sand it, I can go on with the painting on those walls, and I’ll be finished.” He pointed to the rough places around the room. The carpet installers will be here tomorrow morning.”

  “How did you find out what carpet to order?”

  “The hotel manager gave me the maker, the pattern, and how many yards were in this room. He also supplied the dumpster.”

  “Do we need an exterminator?”

  “No, but we need a new toilet, which I ordered.”

  “What did Bloody Bob do in the bathroom to damage the toilet?”

  “He tried to stuff the woman's arms down the commode and totally plugged up the pipes. Of course, he sawed them into small pieces beforehand, but he couldn't get the toilet to flush.”

  “Why would he do such a crazy thing?”

  “The only thing I can think of is he wanted to screw up the toilet so it would need to be replaced. Why else?”

  “Did you see arms in the piping?”

  “No. The CSI group cut off the pipes that were stuffed and took them with them to the lab for analysis. They removed all the body parts before I got here.”

  “Are there any other problems?”

  “I had to charge the new toilet and the carpet to your credit card.”

  “Don’t worry. We'll straighten the money out later.”

  “The hotel manager told me they're paying fifteen thousand dollars for the cleanup job. You wouldn't be trying to cheat me would you?”

  “No way, bro. I had to deduct expenses from the total. You know, the toilet, the carpet, the van, renting the office. If there's more than seventy-five hundred left at the end, I'll give it to you. I’m a man of my word.”

  Herbert looked at him suspiciously and returned to painting. Edgars was pissed that the hotel manager had spilled the beans about the money.

  * * *

  Two weeks later, Edgars received a check in the mail for seventeen thousand, five hundred dollars for the cleaning job at the crime scene. He had increased the bill for the carpet and the toilet, which he said were extras and not in his original agreement. He wrote Herbert a check for five thousand dollars to appease him.

  In the interim, he rented a small office, some equipment, and a van for the new business. He couldn't wait for Bloody Bob to find a new victim. He hoped he would really bloody up the room, knock down some walls, plug up the toilet, maybe take a sledgehammer to the tub, and smash out the windows. He could see the dollar signs rising. He started thinking about getting rich. He wondered how much he could make if Bloody Bob blew up one side of the floor with C-4.

  Edgars' cell rang, and he picked it up.

  “Alan.” He recognized Jenks voice immediately.

  “Yes. This is Alan.”

  “Bloody Bob has struck again. This time on Figaroa in the strip mall between Rush and Limbaugh.”

  “A strip mall? That doesn't sound like his MO. Are you sure Bloody Bob did it?”

  “I'd bet my left nut it's him. And it's much worse than the last crime scene. The poor bastard he tortured and killed suffered horribly.”

  “He killed a man this time?”

  “He’s pretty ugly, but he looks more like a man than a woman.”

  “Is there a lot of blood?”

  “Wait till you see it.”

  When Edgars wrote down the address, he had a weird feeling he'd seen it before. When he pulled into the parking lot and saw the storefront, he knew. It was his new office for Homicide Maintenance. The receptionist was supposed to start the following Monday. Right now, the only one operating the desk was Herbert, his brother-in-law.

  Exit
ing the car, just as before, a sour taste of bile rose in his throat, as he approached the front door. Bullwinkle stood outside. “I hope you haven't eaten lately. If you have, take a vomit bag in there with you so you don’t contaminate the crime scene.”

  “Did you find an ID?” Edgars grimaced.

  “Yeah. The dead guy is Herbert Loozer of 324 Bashford Lane.”

  “Christ,” Edgars exhaled.

  “What is it, Alan?”

  “It's my brother-in-law.”

  “No. You mean me the guy we hired to clean up Bloody Bob's last bloodbath.”

  “The same.”

  “I wonder how Bloody Bob knew him.”

  “What do you mean ‘knew him’?”

  “I’d say Bob must have had a bone to pick with your brother-in-law. He really messed him up in a big way.”

  “How so?”

  “He brought in an industrial meat grinder.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Dead serious. He even sent us a videotape of the whole bloody thing. Bob wore black clothes, a ski mask, and never faced the camera. He worked on your brother-in-law a little bit at a time. Each time he ground off a chunk of flesh and bone, he cauterized the wound and wrapped in a bandage soaked in salt and vinegar so it would hurt like a motherfucker.”

  “Poor Herbert,” Edgars winced.

  “And he did one leg at a time. He was halfway up the first arm when the poor bastard died. Can you believe he worked on him for over twenty-four hours?”

  Edgars felt woozy as he considered the magnitude of the inhuman torture inflicted on his brother-in-law. Who would hold a grudge against poor Herbert?

  “Alan, let me handle this. I'll get Sylvester to partner with me on this one. I had no idea this was your brother-in-law.”

  “I'd appreciate it. I'm not feeling too well.”

  Edgars was not feeling great, but it wasn't so much Herbert's mutilated remains that bothered him. It was the realization that someone had obviously killed Herbert because he was competition for Homicide Cleaning. Was Bloody Bob somehow related to Homicide Cleaning? Was he actually killing and mutilating victims for the sole reason of getting new, obscenely expensive cleaning work? Both Bloody Bob and Homicide Cleaning had been in business for about seven years. Was this a coincidence or were they connected?