by Matt Drabble
She flipped the steak over and rattled the fryer basket. Quite why the big man wanted to pack away such a heavy fatty meal at this hour she didn’t know. She popped the onion rings into the fryer and took an oatmeal portion from the fridge and slammed it into the microwave.
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Donald poured through the evidence as usual. His was always the deciding and if required, casting vote. The competition was simple; the person with the highest amount of murders for that calendar year was the winner. There was no price as such as stake, only the knowledge and satisfaction that you reigned as champion for the coming year. There were no points for style or technique as everything was subjective. And as friendly as the competition was, the idea of three agitated serial killers arguing over stats could only end in one outcome. You had to provide evidence of your kills in the form of Polaroid snaps and the honour system was in place against any faked images.
They met once a year on December the 29th to compare figures in a remote restaurant, bar or diner chosen at random. They knew little about each other away from their clandestine meetings and only used aliases.
Raymond was a stabber. He was a nervous and impotent man of body and mind during the day. He sat in an office cubicle being either ignored or ridiculed by his peers and even subordinates. His boss was a svelte and attractive predatory woman called Mila who slinked her way around the office with a reptilian’s slither. She never wasted an opportunity to make him uncomfortable with her touches and sly strokes. He knew that every touch was an insult that she laughed about behind his back and every time that he plunged his blade into the bodies of the prostitutes and transients he picked up, he saw Mila’s face.
Rachael was an angel of mercy as the press seemed to dub such people in her profession. She worked at a hospital in the geriatric wards. She often heard the word of God when He came to call one of his flock home. She was His hand of mercy and it was her job to end the suffering that she saw around her day in day out. She saw it as only more evidence of God’s will and plan that the hospital had never seen fit to launch an investigation into their high mortality rate. She believed that everything was God’s plan, even her enjoyment at her task. She loved her work and it was her reward.
Donald was a man of large appetites. He was gregarious and outgoing and was a hugely valued member of his local community. He ran numerous outreach programs to the needy and his home office was stuffed full of charitable awards. Of course one of Donald’s most voracious appetites ran to young flesh. His organisation for homeless youths afforded him plenty of opportunity for indulgence. The sex of his victims mattered little as did the act of sex itself. It was the purity of spirit that he craved; the innocent soul tasted the sweetest of all. He had no particular fondness as to method, but he did quite like to feel his meaty hands around fragile throats. He was always careful though to avoid leaving any sort of trail or pattern to his crimes. He had often suspected that his fellow players would one year fail to attend their little gathering due to the repetitive nature of their crimes.
“Well?” Rachael asked irritably.
Donald held up a hand to quieten her as he finished looking through Raymond’s thick envelope. He looked up with regret. “I’m afraid that we appear to have a tie,” he sighed.
“Well that is unacceptable,” Raymond stated firmly, or as firmly as he could muster. He wiped his glasses for the umpteenth time at the table. “We must have closure and a winner.” He checked his watch anxiously, “we have less than 10 minutes to come with a solution,” he pressed.
“Dummy up,” Donald said firmly as he caught sight of the waitress approaching the table.
“Here we are folks,” she said as she hefted the large tray and began setting down the food.
Donald flashed her his best disarming smile; it was one that had gotten several juicy young morsels into the back of his truck. “It all looks divine my dear.” A flash of an idea raced through his mind. “You’re not going to tell me that a young lady such as yourself is all alone tonight?”
“Afraid so,” Della replied. “The girl that I was supposed to be on with hasn’t shown up so it’s just little old me. Can I get you anything else?”
“I think that we’re just fine and dandy, you’ve done us proud,” Donald beamed brightly.
“Well I’ll be close by if you need anything,” Della said as she headed back to the kitchen.
“You really are an oily snake,” Rachael said disparagingly when the waitress had left.
“She’s only being nice because she’s looking for a tip,” Raymond said with venom. “She’ll be over there now laughing at us. She’ll be on the phone with all of her friends talking about the three suckers that she had in last night.”
“A Godless creature to be sure,” Rachael agreed.
“Or the answer to our little problem,” Donald mused.
The other two looked at him confused.
“We have to settle our little problem, do we not?” Donald said quietly. “We need a tiebreaker and that lonely girl could be the answer.”
“How’s that going to work? We all just rush her at once and see who gets there first?” Raymond asked.
“Well that wouldn’t exactly be fair now would it, I mean I’m a little lacking in the athletic department,” Donald grinned.
“So how do we decide?” Rachael asked impatiently.
“How about a little test of ingenuity and imagination?” Donald proposed.
“What do you mean?” Raymond asked intrigued.
“Well we have three minds here. We each come up with the best way to dispose of our young waitress and the most interesting gets to carry out their plan and thus wins this year’s contest,” Donald said as he heaved a fistful of fries into his eager mouth.
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Della emptied the now cooled fryer; it was a pretty gross job but it kept her mind occupied. She couldn’t believe that she had just told her three increasingly weird patrons that she was on her own for the evening. When the one called Raymond had first come in he had seemed shy and harmless, but he had kept giving her sideways glances at the booth. His eyes had suddenly seemed angry and judgmental. The jovial Donald all of a sudden looked carnivorous and hungry with a bright smile that didn’t quite reach to his eyes which were cold. The woman, Rachael, was the only one who hadn’t seemed to have altered. Her face was still set like stone.
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“Alright then I’ll go first,” Raymond said boldly. “We all clear out. I’ll find the fuse box around the back and cut the power. Then I’ll cut the phone lines and leave her isolated. I want her nice and scared and alone in the dark. I’ll barricade the back doors and slip inside the front. I can be pretty quiet and nimble when I need to be. I saw a couple of stray looking cats around the parking lot on the way in. I’ll skin one and bring it inside. Leave the head sitting on the counter and use the blood to write something nasty on the wall. I’ll have her terrified and running around in the darkness. They always run and they always scream. The place is pretty deserted so no-one will hear her. The trick is to let her think that she’s going to get away. Always give them that little piece of hope before you take it away. While she’s freaking out in here I’ll slip back outside and wait in her car, ducked down behind the backseat. She’ll make a break for it, get in the car, and breathe that huge sigh of relief before I slit her throat.” Raymond finished and sat back from the table.
“That’s a bit trite isn’t it? I mean done to death so to speak?” Donald asked.
“It’s a classic,” Raymond huffed.
“Alright then, me next,” Rachael said “Time’s a wasting and we have to get this done before midnight for it to count on this year’s quota.”
“Agreed,” Donald said and Raymond nodded.
“Well to start with I would want to incapacitate her. I am used to dealing with those in a more prone state. A syringe loaded with a longer term paralytic agent like Nuromax would suffice. Personally I would like to learn more
about the human anatomy. In my work I am able to administer dosages when the chosen are called home, but I am curious as to the effects of my methods. Perhaps I can learn more about the workings of the human body to aid me in my calling. I would lock up the diner for the night. There is a pool table that I saw out the back which would make a fine operating table. I would have a few hours before the morning shift arrives to dissect and probe. I’m fairly confident that I could keep her alive long enough for me to get some answers.”
“That sounds very untidy,” Raymond offered meekly. “Pulling apart the flaps of the human form, all of that blood and mess spraying around the room, who’s going to clean that up?”
“We must have knowledge in order to better fulfill our destiny,” Rachael said haughtily.
“What about you Donald? What would be your grand design?” Raymond asked.
“Well,” Donald started as he put down his fork and wiped his mustard smeared face with a napkin. “I think that I would like to make full use of the facilities,” he said with a glint in his eye that made the other two look a little nervous.
“Facilities?” Raymond asked.
“We have a fully functioning kitchen at our disposal do we not? Industrial sized fryers and ovens. I would like to set the young thing’s mind at ease, after all we are told that stress is a terrible addition for the meat. Cattle must be calm when they are slaughtered. There is a full wall of glinting sharp metal knifes and cleavers to play with. I share Rachael’s predilection for dissection. I would like to carve that juicy fresh filly into strips of delicate meat. I used to be quite the budding chef don’t you know, and I’m sure that I could come up with a few recipes with which to serve up our delicious hostess. Think about it, the young girl goes missing, who exactly is going to miss her? Young girls these days take up and leave all the time. Trust me, I work with lots of troubled youths. I saw that the diner is equipped with a large walk in freezer. I’m sure that no-one would notice if the burger patties were a slightly different color and the steaks were a little tougher. The breakfast crowd would have a little something extra on their plates in the morning, how delightful would that be?”
“You’re a monster!” Rachael exclaimed.
“Aren’t we all?” Donald replied.
“So how do we decide?” Raymond asked looking down at his watch at the creeping hands.
“Dummy up,” Donald instructed quickly as he caught sight of the waitress approaching.
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Della approached the booth with a freshly brewed pot of coffee and saw the odd look in Donald’s eyes. For some reason she thought of the wolf from Little Red Riding Hood. There was a strange energy about the table and she felt like they had been talking about her. “Everything ok?” She asked.
“First class my dear,” Donald smiled widely.
“Fine,” Raymond mumbled.
Rachael only stared through her.
Della noticed that Donald was the only one who had eaten anything of note. The other two had picked listlessly at their food and only the coffee cups were empty. “Let me refill those cups for you,” she said buzzing around the table with the pot. When she was done she started to clear the table, expertly stacking the plates through experience gained up and down the country in similar diners.
“Oh there’s no need,” Donald said coldly.
She didn’t like the iciness in his voice and hurried. Once the crockery was stacked high on her forearms she turned back to the kitchen and tried not to run.
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“Don’t scare her off,” Raymond hissed anxiously.
“Oh relax,” Donald said sitting back in the booth and taking a swig from his freshly filled cup. “She’s not going anywhere.”
“Time’s running out, we have to decide,” Rachael stressed. “How are we going to decide?” She asked behind her coffee cup as though she was suddenly worried that the waitress had developed lip reading abilities.
“I like my idea best,” Raymond stated solemnly.
“Well I like mine and I’m sure that Rachael likes hers,” Donald said irritably. “What we need is an impartial judge.”
“Brilliant idea, and just who do you suggest we ask?” Rachael said sarcastically looking around the deserted diner.
“Why not her?” Raymond offered.
“Who?” Rachael snapped.
“The waitress.”
“Are you mad?” Donald exclaimed.
“Hear me out. What if we tell her that we’re a writers’ group? What if we ask her to decide on the best plot line for our story?” Raymond replied, his voice growing stronger. It was the first time that he had voiced an idea to the group and he took a sip of coffee to lubricate his dry throat.
“I like it,” Donald mused, grinning broadly. “There’s a delicious twisted logic to it.”
“Whatever we’re going to do we need to do it now,” Rachael stated firmly. “So I’m in, let’s ask her, and get this silliness over with quickly.”
Donald beamed with mirth. “Oh miss,” he called.
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Della turned to the table and the large man grinning like the Cheshire cat. She sighed and wondered just how three people could be such a problem. She put on her best customer smile and walked back over.
“I was wondering if you could settle a little debate for us?” Donald asked and she raised her eyebrows waiting for the question. “You see my friends and I are part of a writing group. We are collaborating on a rather gruesome horror novel and we have hit quite the roadblock. We have three possible fates for a young lady in the book and we cannot quite decide which one to use. As an impartial observer you would cast the deciding vote.”
“Ok,” Della said uncertainly.
She listened as the three scenarios were laid out for her. All three seemed rather unpleasant and Donald’s was particularly disgusting. She had them run the ideas through several times for her. The three faces before her all seemed to lean forward with hungry anticipation. She noticed that Raymond was continuingly checking his watch as though time was running short. “Well I suppose that if you are looking for commercialism in your book, then I guess that audiences are a little desensitized these days, so I would plump for Donald’s I suppose.”
“Excellent!” Donald exclaimed. “A wise choice even if I do say so myself.”
Della stood back as Donald heaved his bulk up from the table. The other two had gone silent but Donald didn’t seem to notice. She watched on as the big man reached his feet before swaying. He stuck out a fat meaty paw and clutched the table’s edge. His eyes seemed to have trouble focusing and his expression was one of confusion as the world spun around him.
Eventually he collapsed back into the booth with only a thin line of dribble for his last words. Della sighed with relief. Usually they went down so much quicker, but Donald was such a big man and she’d have to remember to increase her usual dosage in accordance with that sort of bulk.
She had kept them all prattling along with their ridiculous story ideas whilst the drugged coffee had done its work. She leaned in and checked the fading pulses as the three died. She hadn’t wanted to have struck again so soon, but her instincts were telling her that something was amiss with these three and she always listened to her instincts.
She had been travelling the highway truck stops for some time now, always choosing her victims carefully and only moving on when the time felt right.
She noticed the fat envelopes on the table and opened them. Inside were files and photos of the dead. She counted out the Polaroid images in each envelope and found that there were 17 in each and all dated this year. 17 victims that the three had each taken.
She smiled to herself and shook her head, 17, she thought, thinking of her own number for the year, amateurs.
tale 3.
“you call that music?”
“Turn that crap down!” Dale McCredie yelled at the top of his voice. He was a large man currently ensconced in his recliner and not in the mood
to get up. He worked a long and hard day and he wasn’t about to give up his leisure time as the cold beer nestled in his hand and the big screen TV washed over him in numbing waves of entertainment. “Swear to God Darlene if I have to get up he’s not going to be able to sit down for a week,” he snapped at his timid wife.
Darlene was up in a flash eager to please and prevent another evening ruined by her husband’s temper. He was a good man in many ways, well in some and it was her duty to love honour and obey as her mother had done before her. “I’ll take care of it sweetie,” she cooed as she raced out of the lounge and up the stairs.
The music was loud and she could feel Dale’s thermometer rising as the pounding drum beats and wailing guitar screeched at high volume.
Ricky McCredie barely registered his mother’s apprehensive gentle rapping on his bedroom door. It was only when her pale face peered around the corner did he realise that she was there. “Jeez mom,” he exclaimed shocked. “Don’t you ever knock?”
Her face was sad as per usual and he immediately regretted his tone. His mother was a nice woman it was his father that created most of their problems in life, well certainly the home based ones. “Sorry mom, I didn’t mean to snap,” he apologized.
“That’s ok sweetie, but your father is trying to relax and the music is a little loud,” she replied.
Ricky was off his bed in a flash and turned the stereo down. The last thing that he wanted was for his father to start kicking off again. The big man was mean before he started drinking in the evenings and then he only got worse with a skinful.
He watched on awkwardly as his mother stood there looking around his room trying to find the words to bridge the gaping chasm between them. The walls were adorned with posters of various metal bands. His music was his life and the bands were his family. He was an underdeveloped 13 year old. He was short and skinny with narrow shoulders and the sort of face that just seemed to be a magnet for schoolyard fists. His hair was a deep ginger red and his face was sprinkled with freckles. His glasses were thick lenses and his rasping chest was often in need of an inhaler. All in all he was a bully’s wet dream. He had no real friends in school and had grown tired of trying to make them. He knew that this part of his life couldn’t last forever, but he wished that it would just hurry up and get done. All he had to hope for was that when it was over he would be long gone and successful and able to rub all of their stinking faces in the dirt.
