If he was going to do this it had to be a homeless person.
Plain and simple.
If he was going to cross that line there was no other way.
So, consciously and subconsciously, Montgomery began taking note of the bums in his city. He drove around and watched them shuffle about their day-to-day business of begging and hording and (more often than not) drinking or drugging. He followed at a safe distance and discovered where some of them slept through the night. He began internally justifying the possibility of snuffing one out and then harvesting their meat.
Nobody would miss them.
He would be cleaning up the streets.
If anything, he would be doing the bum a favor by ending his miserable life.
There were a couple false attempts, intense situations that found Montgomery, thick rope in hand, combing dank alleyways and beneath freeway overpasses for a suitable target.
Another caveat, birthing itself from intense bouts of “hypothetical” reasoning, insisted upon a female victim. He couldn’t chance being overpowered. Also, though merely a sexist suspicion, women had to taste better, they simply had to.
The Worst.
A late December night, two hours away in another city, Montgomery fell upon his prize. She was younger than the others he had been studying, probably a runaway rather than homeless, but missing and unwanted and (probably) better off relieved of life just the same. Montgomery found her sleeping in the crook of a freeway overpass. She was bundled up with ragged blankets, old jackets and a few layers of newspaper, tucked away as snug as a bug into a cold concrete crevice.
When he moved on her she fought weakly, too drunk or too high to evade, and didn’t do much in the way of screaming. Instead she moaned a little and clumsily labored against his advances. Montgomery kept his focus as narrow as possible. He was only interested in finishing her off and he didn’t want to make the mistake of looking her in the face for fear her eyes, their expression, their death tinged emotion would give him an exit.
There was a bit of haranguing as he tried to get the rope around her neck, but once it was in place he simply twisted and twisted and pulled. The process went smoothly and took maybe three and a half minutes. Montgomery’s mind was somewhere else, his eyes searching skyward for the heavens, glued instead upon the harsh cement of the overpass. The world whooshed by above them, car after car speeding its driver on their way to work or home or perhaps a sudden, car-mangling death. It was all a trick of fate, destiny’s toothy, bloody grin, and no matter how hard Montgomery worked toward his goals and mapped out his career, the future was still an indeterminable tangle of chance and favor. The hopeless ebb and flow of the eternally blind went on millennia upon millennia upon millennia and all he could do about it was squeeze and fight until the struggle ceased, until victim number one lay lifeless beneath him, reshaping his world forever.
The dance with death had begun.
Luckily she was light. Montgomery had a bit of trouble disentangling her corpse from layer after layer of insulating materials, but when he finally got her body loose he was shocked to discover just how young and un-homeless she appeared. She had a punky, shoulder length shock of black, black hair and even darker eyes (though he tried to avoid them). Her clothes were trendy punk, more expensive than they appeared and not all that old or beat up – a Misfits tee-shirt, costume jewelry, a ripped and frayed jean skirt with torn fishnets. The ensemble finished with a pair of beat up Chuck’s. This wasn’t a lost, tortured, used up soul, this was merely a young girl (at the time not that much younger than him) with rebellion issues. Worse, she was a beautiful young girl, one that he could have easily dated or hung around with.
Montgomery stared at her for a moment before lugging her to the trunk of his car. All at once everything came apart inside. He started sobbing violently and felt nausea fucking with his esophagus. He wondered if he would have felt the same if his victim had been old and leathery and used up like he anticipated. Probably, death was death and murder was murder, but something about the girl’s youth bothered him. She was obviously lost and broken, but if he hadn’t stepped in and delivered her she may have had opportunities to turn her life around.
Fighting through despondency, he gathered her up and buried her in the trunk of his Impala (this was pre-Maserati) and then began the long drive home.
The entire preparation process was awkward and sickening. At this point Montgomery had merely sampled the finished product back in France. He had caught a quick glimpse of Michel and Rene working on the body of a hooker, but beyond those seconds of horror before he fainted, he hadn’t seen the entire process performed.
Where was he to cut?
What meat was worth saving and what was to be discarded?
What did you do with the organs? Were they edible?
What did you do with the bones and excess viscera?
All of these questions and more were slowly answered over time. A few murders in, Montgomery actually began to relish the butchering process. He became an expert at slicing away ligaments and fat and bundling the choicest cuts of meat. The first time however, everything was messy and foreign and nearly unbearable.
He stripped his victim and was almost too embarrassed by her nudity to perform the necessary portioning. She was probably about twenty and Montgomery internally chastised himself over the erotic heat welling within as he removed her off-white bra and slid her black panties over her legs. This wasn’t a sexual thing he continually reminded. This was sick. It was wrong. A disgusting means to a delicious end. He wasn’t a pervert. Despite, his manhood betrayed him and stood erect at revealed skin and the girl’s intimates. He stared lustfully at the smooth white flesh, his eyes tracing contours, his mouth going watery. She had a number of tattoos, a dragon etched into her inner thigh, an anarchy sign just above her panty line to the left of her belly button. All of these years later he could still picture them clear as day.
Once the knives went to work, all sexual desires cooled. Montgomery relaxed and became focused on the matter at hand. All of his training came flooding in and he became a machine, precise, skilled, harkening back to the culinary basics of butchery all the while augmenting the animal models in his head to match up with the varied human form.
The Best.
Many hours later, the hard work done, imperative issues like disposal hammering in his head, Montgomery took a break from logistics and prepared his first meal.
The meat shared with Michel didn’t count. He was forced and couldn’t help but to enjoy the flavor, but it was a different experience all together. Here, before him were the fruits of his labor, his tenacity and bravery and willingness to transcend the constraints of civilized society manifest.
It was everything he anticipated and more.
For the first meal he kept things very simple. He took a small fillet and grilled it up in a frying pan with a dash of salt and a little garlic. There were no sides or accompanying sauces, just a clean, white plate with an aromatic, pleasant looking piece of meat laid out before him. True, he had tasted the forbidden before, but this time around it was of his own volition and it felt weird and there was now a murder under his belt and why, why, why?
His actions were those of an insane person.
Was he mad?
He didn’t feel crazy, just distracted and a little obsessive compulsive.
1. The fork. 2. The meat (coming apart tenderly). 3. The mouth.
The dish he prepared attacked his taste buds like nothing he had ever savored. Instantly, the macabre elements, any doubts he may have been harboring about murder and human worth, were pleasantly erased.
After racking his brain for hours upon hours, Montgomery finally figured out who the mystery girl was. At first he felt a little spooked when she drove away. With her dark hair and punk looks she reminded him of his first murder oh so long ago. But of course the dead stayed dead and ghosts were no more real than fairy tales.
So who was she?
Trouble,
that’s who.
Heather’s friend. It hit him full force while he was cooking dinner for Liz. Montgomery practically bit his tongue to keep from shouting out in fearful frustration. He didn’t want to tell Liz. She would freak and rub it in his face, citing it as one of the many, many reasons why he was only supposed to kill men.
For the record, let it be known – women tended to have nosy friends.
Something had to be done.
But what?
In all of these years nothing like this ever occurred. This was exactly why Montgomery had been growing so adamant about quitting. Messy entanglements like these were bound to happen when you were screwing with people’s lives. It was only a matter of time. He was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner.
Instead of following his gut and stopping one, two, maybe even three murders back, like an idiot he strove to keep Liz happy and took on more and more risk. Now he couldn’t even bitch at Liz because she would turn the tables on him so fast his arguments would die away before they even breached his lips.
Well, if it was any consolation to his nervous, nervous brain he distinctly remembered Heather telling him her and her best friend worked at a record store downtown. He couldn’t remember the name of the place – some details just didn’t survive post-murder. What he could remember is Heather telling him about her favorite place to eat, a nearby pizza place called Perfect Pizza. The name lacked pizzazz, but Montgomery had heard good things about the restaurant and it received an excellent write up in the local paper. All in all, it should be pretty easy to track the girl down and take care of the problem however he had to take care of it.
What the hell was her name?
Heather had definitely mentioned it, but like the name of the record store he couldn’t even begin to guess. There was a whole lot on his mind when talking to Heather and little things like names didn’t seem to register. He tried to coax what he could from the depths of his gray matter, but alas – nothing. It was all about the details. He had to remember to pay closer attention to people. You never knew when you would need to recall a bit of seemingly useless information.
All through dinner Montgomery tried to put on a game face and let this new, nagging problem go (at least for a little while), but he was never very good at lying to Liz and his neurotic tells – the scratching, the twitching, the stuttering – gave him away.
Direct and to the point Liz jumped right in, “What gives, Montgomery?”
“N-N-N-Nothing.”
All she had to do was give him a long, annoyed look and he felt like he was melting into a pool of shame.
Tension waved like a wall of heat.
Eyes narrowed.
Lips pursed.
It wasn’t always like this.
And Montgomery was certain it wasn’t always going to be like this either. He knew that there was a bright future beneath all of their dysfunction just waiting to flourish and breathe clear, unfettered by all of this death and guilt. Fighting and arguing and holding each other to difficult promises really wore him down, but Liz was incredible beyond words. She understood him in a way that nobody on earth ever could. In his heart of hearts, and this wasn’t hyperbole, he knew she truly was the one. The one. But sometimes she treated him like shit. And sometimes there was a perverse sense of pleasure undulating in her eyes when Montgomery talked to her about the horrors of acquiring meat. And sometimes he felt like strangling her when she rode him so hard over little crap. If he broke and told her what happened he was in for a lecture and a fight and…
“Want to go to the movies tonight?” Montgomery tried the oldest tactic in the book and changed the subject.
Liz’s eyes danced, “Are you asking me out on a date?”
It was almost hard to believe that it worked and Montgomery waited a moment for a sarcastic quip to bring them back around to the matter of ‘What gives?’
Nothing.
A trap?
Still nothing.
Okay, humor then, “I promise to have you home by curfew.”
Liz laughed, apparently letting things go and just like that they were in the clear and ready for a night out.
Work schedules were insane and the prospect of a date, a free evening to just go out and have some fun thrilled the both of them to no end. Tonight they weren’t Executive Chefs or soon-to-be doctors with a million and one things to take care of, tonight they were a couple of carefree lovers enjoying each other’s company.
As they walked the concourse of their neighborhood’s newest, trendy, upscale entertainment plaza (it opened almost six months ago but this being their first time checking it out it was new to them) they held hands and window shopped and felt like a normal couple, more so than they had in months. Time really had the tendency to get away from them. Work upon work upon work and before they knew it they hadn’t said much more than ‘Hi’ or ‘Bye’ to one another. A day off here or there lined up, but it was often spent chilling out at home or catching up on neglected house and yard work.
While they waited for their movie they got sucked into some sort of vortex and spent an inordinate amount of time peering into the display cases of a brightly lit jewelry store. Liz had been hinting about marriage for a good year or so. Montgomery felt rather ambivalent about the subject.
Would he marry her? Sure.
Was he in any hurry to do so? Not really.
They were happy (mostly), comfortable (mostly), loyal (always), so what did it matter?
He was aware that it meant something a little deeper to Liz, a girly thing to be sure, and when the time felt right he would act, but now, looking at rings, an air of desperation clouded her decrees and the time felt anything but right. Marriage wasn’t sexy or impulsive. This date, born from impulse, needed more heat and less future mining.
Opting to skip the movie (some dumb thing neither of them wanted to watch anyway) they went to a fancy wine bar for a few drinks instead.
Montgomery wasn’t a big drinker. Especially as of late. When he was younger he partied a bit, but now there was a dearth of opportunities. Same for Liz. Work kept them both far too busy for social drinking. The alcohol went to work fast and before long they were leaning against the marble bar top, flushing from the inside out, slurring the occasional word.
“Let’s get a booth,” Montgomery gestured dramatically toward a dark, quiet side of the bar. The other patrons occupying the barstools to their left and right and the continual motion from the bartender behind the counter was making him feel mighty claustrophobic.
They stumbled from the bar to a deep, shadowy booth and sat as close as they possibly could to one another. Liz’s perfume drove Montgomery crazy and he buried his face in her neck for a long second. They kissed lightly and then regained their composure (both were not fans of prolonged public displays of affection).
“This is cool, huh?” Montgomery’s words came out too fast. The drinks were throwing him a little.
“Lovely.” Liz agreed and sipped her martini.
“We gotta get out more often.” He took a big swig of his beer. “Drink more often.”
“I know. It really stinks when life is so busy you can’t even enjoy it. One more year, Montgomery.”
She would be a full fledged medical doctor with (hopefully) decent hours in about eleven months.
“I can’t wait.” He leaned in and gave her a peck on the lips. The taste of vermouth lingered.
“Okay sir, what was going on with you back at dinner?”
Damn. Liz wasn’t the kind to let anything go.
Earlier Montgomery didn’t want to tell her about Heather’s friend, it would just bring on trouble and arguing and he wasn’t in the mood, but the alcohol helped to relax him and suddenly it didn’t seem like such a big deal. Besides, Montgomery felt like she needed to know. After all, they were in this together.
“Okay miss, I didn’t want to get into it, but… Well, I have no choice.”
“You always have a choice.” She smiled at him.
“No, we... I, might be screwed.”
Montgomery told her everything that happened and then waited for the onslaught. Liz’s eyes looked far away as she processed the information. He was expecting a lecture of some kind, the girl speech and why it was imperative that he only kill men. The alcohol was making him feel surly even before she had a chance to speak. Whatever she had to say he had heard it all before. Yes, men were expendable. They were violent and more prone to perversion and deserving of a horrible death. Women, though capable of like dysfunction, were sisters and mothers and daughters. They were precious and pure and to be revered. Like the old adage – women and children first, Liz made it clear that they were to be spared.
Montgomery hated to argue. He loved his mom. He loved Liz. He had nothing but respect for women. But Goddamn, they were easier!
Also, it made tons more sense to pick up on a woman, lure her home and then…
Every time this conversation sparked Liz didn’t want to hear it. She wanted to speak her mind and set the rules, but she wasn’t interested in his side of the argument. Wary of this, Montgomery was ready to go on the defensive (for the umpteenth time) and plead his case when she surprised him and went in a totally different direction.
Her face darkened and her tone didn’t veer toward anger as he had expected it to, instead her voice floated toward him pensively, somberly, seriously. “I know we need to stop, but a part of me really needs this. You helped me take a little something back. You made me feel confidant again and showed me that the world wasn’t in control, that destiny… that fate… I don’t know exactly what I am trying to say, I just know I feel it and I feel good. If it all goes away I don’t know how I’ll feel Montgomery. Maybe that’s enough, you know? But maybe I’ll go back to the way I was.”
Finally she was ready to talk about the big picture. Montgomery had been waiting to have this crucial conversation for some time now. Rather than rekindle a debate about the sexes, it was a relief to find Liz ready to discuss the immediate future.
As Fate Would Have It Page 13
