Twisted Retribution
Page 15
“Hi,” she said meekly.
“I brought some whiskey,” Henry announced.
“Oh no, I don’t drink,” Sarah answered.
“Okay, suit yourself.” Henry looked surprised but slightly delighted. This woman was so different than the cheap whores and unwilling victims Henry usually fucked. He liked Sarah Sears’ aged innocence.
Henry suddenly pushed Sarah against the hood of his car, embracing her and running his hand down her khaki blouse. She had her gun holstered to her side. Henry reached for it, and Sarah flinched.
“What’s wrong, my little sweetheart?” Henry cooed. “I’d never hurt you. I like you. Hell, I think I love you.” He was inflicting all his charm.
Sarah laid her pistol on the top of the car, allowing Henry to open her top. Pulling her breasts out of her bra, he began to run his hands over her nipples. Sarah’s vagina was pulsating.
“Stop,” she was telling herself, but not to Henry.
He pulled her pants down and ran his hand over her crotch before suddenly holding her wrists together. She began to struggle to free herself, but he started wrapping rope tightly around her arms.
Henry was laughing, holding her arms above her head before forcing himself inside her.
After a few quick, hard thrusts, Henry came in Sarah. She was excited yet disgusted. “This must stop,” she was praying quietly. “I’ve lost my mind.” Sarah now knew Henry was capable of anything. She saw the wildness in his eyes and sensed his pleasure in controlling another person. Henry was the accused killer in the picture at her office.
Sarah was more frightened of what might happen after Henry released her. He might want to kill his victim. She needed to escape, but she had to remain calm.
Henry suggested they build a fire on the red clay riverbank. While Sarah redressed, he zipped his trousers and walked toward some fallen tree limbs to gather wood. Sarah wondered if he might break her neck with the sticks.
Instead, he returned and piled several pieces on top of each other. Gathering some dried leaves and grass, he lit the stack with his cigarette lighter. The banks of the Red River were lonely and isolated, except for the murderous pair. Henry waved for Sarah to sit beside him on a log. She declined. As he turned his back toward the fledgling blaze, Sarah retrieved her pistol.
“Think you may need that?” Henry asked, pointing to the gun when she joined him at the fire and holstered her weapon.
“No, I’m just used to it being there,” Sarah mumbled.
“What’s your old man like when he’s not beating you?” Henry asked her.
“I really don’t know,” she replied. “Mostly quiet and preoccupied.”
“Does he still fuck you?”
“No, never,” she answered. Where was Henry going with his line of questions?
“You want him killed?” Henry asked and touched her shoulder. Sarah was shocked, but a faint smile betrayed her lips. She’d prayed for Pete Sears to die hundreds of times. God would take him when the time was right. She could not ignore her mind asking if maybe Henry was the man God sent for the job.
“Why do you ask that?” Sarah looked at Henry.
“Well, I figure you’d be better off with him dead. I could kill the asshole, and you’d be rid of him. Think about it, and let me know. I feel like I owe you something. You’ve been so good to Henry.”
Sarah feared this man. “I’d better get home,” she said and looked toward the road. Walking toward her patrol car, she suddenly turned and said, “I’ll let you know about my husband, and thanks for the offer.” Henry was lighting up a cigarette. He nodded.
Sarah pointed the car toward the narrow country road. What a strange and unlikely pair they were: two killers. One a God-loving woman, and the other a killer for kicks. Sarah Sears needed to clear her head.
Pulling in the driveway, Sarah spied Olivia and a boy sitting in an unfamiliar car outside her home. She pulled up beside the vehicle.
“Hi, honey,” Sarah waved.
Olivia looked at her blankly, and the boy looked the other way. Sarah so wished her daughter was her friend.
The front door opened as Sarah stepped on the porch. “Get in here, you bitch!” Pete demanded.
“What is it?” Sarah asked, feigning normalcy. As she turned to Pete, he threw a punch, glancing off her mouth. Her lip burst and blood ran down her chin. Sarah tried to sidestep him and push him back away from her body.
“You bitch. Don’t you lie to me. Have you been meeting up with some man?”
“What are you talking about?” Sarah cried.
“I knew it! Let a bitch get out of the house, and they become the town whore!” Pete was red-faced and ran toward Sarah, grabbing her hair. Her pistol bounced against her hip. She could kill him now.
Pete pushed her on the couch and grabbed an old ashtray. Sarah thought he might bash her head in, but instead, he threw it at her, barely missing her face. The front door suddenly opened, and Olivia entered, looking at the two of them. Their daughter said nothing and went upstairs.
Someone must have seen her with Henry and told Pete. Sarah Sears had no one on her side except for her pistol and Henry Lucas.
Pete charged outside and started up his old pick-up. Sarah wondered if he’d try to find the man she was with. If he did, Sarah knew Pete would be the one to lose. Pete Sears was mean and hot-tempered, but Henry was a professional. Pete would die if he confronted him.
Sarah bathed her lip in ice water and washed her face. She fried some bacon and made three bacon and tomato sandwiches. This and some potato chips and pickles would be enough for dinner, along with some packaged fried pies she’d saved in the pantry. Everything was on the table in case Pete or Olivia needed dinner. Sarah was somewhat a creature of habit, always making sure the Sears family didn’t go hungry.
Locking herself inside her bedroom later that evening, she knew her night would be spent suffering. Thoughts of what her future held overwhelmed her. She prayed, asking God if Henry Lee Lucas was the Messiah sent by God to rid Sarah of her abuser. Sarah knew God moved in mysterious ways. If Henry killed Pete, Sarah could have a new life. Henry would be pinned with the murder, and no witnesses would ever suspect her involvement. If Henry tried to implicate her, she’d simply testify against the killer. Sarah could rid herself of both men this way. Sarah finally fell into a fitful sleep.
***
Henry pushed open the front door of the Mooney shack. The old lady was waiting and tore into him. “You ain’t doin’ no work around here. So after tonight, I want you and the girl outta here. She’s eating and bitching all the time, gettin’ on my nerves.”
Henry ignored her and headed for his bed. He wasn’t in the mood for either of these cunts, Becky or the old bitch. Henry might just kill both of them tonight.
The small bedroom door was open, and he spotted the teenager on her stomach with headphones on.
“Where you been all day?” she asked.
Henry gave her a cold stare.
Becky had grown up with heartless killers, and her gut told her to shut up. She rolled over and didn’t make a sound. Henry laid down on her left side, motionless. He was ready to kill, but he hoped it wouldn’t be the girl.
When the morning light came through the thin curtains, Henry smelled bacon. Mrs. Mooney seemed in a better mood.
“I got my money in the mail yesterday,” she said. “Could you drive me into Nocona today so I can cash my government check? I need to get a few groceries.”
“Sure,” Henry agreed. He knew the old lady would never suspect this would be her last trip to the little town, unless she were traveling in the trunk of his car. He’d wait until she had the cash. Old Lady Mooney would never bitch anyone out again after today.
Henry waited while the woman cleaned up after breakfast. She never bathed but used a wash rag to clean her body parts. He could see her sagging breasts and bulbous stomach from his seat because she’d left her bedroom door open slightly.
“Why would she do that?
” he thought. Surely the old woman didn’t think that he, Henry Lee Lucas, was a desperate man. Henry thought of himself as irresistible. The cop lady had proven that. And what should he do with Sarah? He liked her, but he also knew staying around Nocona, Texas, after killing the old woman would get him caught.
His only option was to be on the move. He’d stuff the old broad’s bones in that stove, burn them, and go back to see Sarah one more time. Henry would keep his word to the cop lady. If she wanted her bastard husband dead, he’d take care of that also.
He also wanted to make sure Sarah never told anyone about their sexual encounters, but he felt certain she wouldn’t. Sarah Sears didn’t want to lose her job or be thought of as a small-town slut. “She’d keep her mouth shut,” he convinced himself.
After these killings, Henry and Becky would head toward Wichita Falls or maybe Oklahoma. He wasn’t sure at the moment.
8
Sarah Sears had to make a decision today. What would she do with Henry Lee Lucas? In her gut, Sarah knew Henry was the killer pictured on the flyer. In tiny Nocona, Texas, any stranger attracted the town criers. “Who’s the stranger?” everyone would soon be wanting to know if he stayed around much longer. Henry wasn’t the type to cower in dark corners.
Staring in the mirror at her home, Sarah dabbed antiseptic on her face, tending to Pete Sears’ blows to her body and her pride. The thought of seeing him bleeding on cold concrete, perhaps in the garage downstairs, at once delighted Sarah and repulsed her.
Olivia’s father was the only man Sarah had ever known as a husband, but not as a lover. Henry Lee Lucas’ semen was now a part of Sarah’s physicality.
Sarah prayed, “Dear God, why did you let me be seduced by a killer?” She immediately admitted that maybe God permitted it so that she would recognize another killer because she was a killer.
***
Mooney never deposited her government check; she only believed in cash. Her hard life had prepared her to be wary of thieves and con artists, and she believed banks were part of a government scam for old people. She’d take her money in twenty dollar bills, stick them in a small cloth coin purse, and put it in the left side of her brassiere. This was Mooney’s safe place, as nothing could slip out of the generous holster.
Henry drove to town feeling agitated and delighted. He’d get a fix today, not from alcohol or drugs, but from making an old woman see her God. Today was Mrs. Mooney’s last day on this earth, and he would play God today—just the way Henry liked it.
The old, black iron stove where he planned to dispose of her body sat on some piles of dirt among some junk at the back of the Mooney place. The old lady once told him the beds were once for worm farming, something that turned out to be a hoax set by traveling salesmen who got the old lady to invest in their scheme. When she quit giving money to the worm farmers, she left the beds to dry up.
Becky didn’t need to see this murder, Henry concluded. He’d act alone. He planned to lure the old women to the worm beds, knife her, steal the cash, and cut her up into pieces small enough to fit in the old stove. Smoke from a small fire would not arouse suspicion from any passersby.
“Okay, I’m ready,” the old woman sneered at Henry, interrupting his thoughts. “I’m gettin’ too old to make these trips into town,” she continued. “But a person’s got to eat. I’d better stop by and get some milk and stuff after the bank. When are you and the girl going on? I don’t have anything left for you to do.” She sensed Henry’s anger.
Never one to fear much of anything, Mrs. Mooney did not like this man. She wanted him out of her house. The girl had to go with him.
“I’m leaving later today,” Henry answered. He didn’t look at the woman and lit up a cigarette. The two backed out on Highway 82 in Henry’s car for the three-mile ride to the bank. Pretty soon, Henry would have some cash and be on the road again. But leaving the cop lady behind made him strangely sad. He liked playing with the emotions of an innocent person like her. Henry had slept with mostly prostitutes and drug addicts in his life. This woman was different; she was pure.
He decided to do her a favor and kill Sarah’s husband before he left. Henry knew where Sarah’s house was located because he’d followed her throughout his time in Nocona. He thought the best way to kill Pete Sears was to do it fast and straightforward. He’d knock on Pete’s door and stab him repeatedly when he answered.
“Hell, this is will be a good deed for Sarah,” Henry thought. It was Henry’s way of paying her back for her companionship and trust. He felt good about murdering Pete Sears.
***
“Good morning,” Zach greeted Sarah. “How’s it going?”
“Okay,” Sarah said and tried to hide her face from him. She didn’t like to upset Zach with any of her problems. She knew he suffered from acute anxiety, and anything that happened to Sarah could drive him over the edge.
“You don’t look okay to me,” Zach replied and studied her red cheek. “He hit you again.”
Sarah nodded.
“I still think we could kill the son of a bitch.”
Sarah looked away.
Just then Ruby came in the office carrying her lunch box and a single carnation. “What’s with the flower?” Zach questioned Ruby.
“Oh, I stopped for a fried pie and coffee at the store,” Ruby said. “That crazy clerk was all chipper and handed me this. I felt like I had to take it. Now it’ll need water.”
Ruby sighed. She was anxious to get on the phone. Nocona always has something new for Ruby to hear about each morning.
Sarah’s mind was on fire and made it impossible to relax at her desk. She was staring at the handbill that blared Henry Lee Lucas as a suspected killer. Frustrated, she walked out to see Zach and told him she would be back soon. He was suspicious that Sarah knew something he didn’t.
Sarah spotted Henry’s car parked at the curb in front of First National Bank. “Dear God,” Sarah muttered, “please don’t let him be a bank robber too.”
She had no choice but to arrest her casual lover. Guilt overwhelmed her, and Sarah was angry at herself and Henry. Other than Zach, Sarah Sears had never known a good man. Henry had turned out to be just another bastard.
Sarah continued praying as she walked up to Henry’s car window, her right hand close to her pistol. Henry was sitting alone in the driver’s seat, waiting on Mrs. Mooney.
“Hey, cop lady! Wanna fuck today?” he said a little too loudly, giving her a cheesy grin.
Embarrassed, Sarah managed to smile politely and reply, “No, I have work to do, but how about after work?”
Henry was surprised that this unlikely lover wanted more sex. But Henry had always known his sex appeal. Women were so dumb and weak. Concerned that Mrs. Mooney would come out of the bank any moment, Henry tried to get rid of Sarah. “Hey, I gotta go too. Where do you wanna meet?”
“River bridge?” she suggested.
He nodded and said, “See you around 5:00.” He had a lot of work to do today, sawing up an old carcass before showering up and getting ready for rough sex with a cop. Henry liked how his plans were shaping up for the last few hours of his life in Nocona, Texas.
Mrs. Mooney had stuffed the $20 bills in her bra once she cashed her check, and then she returned to the car.
“Stop by the Piggly Wiggly,” she commanded Henry. “I need milk and a few TV dinners.” Henry nodded again. This old lady needed nothing but a miracle, and today wasn’t the day for her to have one.
The Piggly Wiggly grocery store was on the way to the Mooney house. As Henry approached, he gunned the accelerator and drove past it.
“What are you doing?” Mrs. Mooney challenged him. “You dim wit, there’s the store!” she said and pointed as they drove down the street.
Henry just smirked at her, saying nothing.
“Where you goin’, you asshole?” Mrs. Mooney was angry.
“I’m not going anywhere, you old bitch. You’re the one that’s going! To your grave!” Henry said.
Pulling into Mooney’s driveway and opening the passenger door, Henry pulled out the old lady’s limp body. She slumped on the ground, her head bleeding from his blow to her temple. She was moaning and awake now. Becky ran out the door and screamed, “What the hell?”
“Shut up,” Henry demanded her. “Get a blanket right now off the bed.”
“What happened?” the girl asked, surprised.
“I said now!” Henry yelled.
Becky grabbed the plaid wool quilt on the old woman’s chair. “Here,” she said as she pitched it to Henry.
He looked at Becky and said, “Help me wrap her up.”
Becky recalled the conversation she’d had with Henry earlier. “We need her money, and we have to kill her to get it,” he had said.
Becky Toole knew murder and knew money. Money always won! Mooney would have to die.
They rolled the quilt around the old lady’s body as she moaned and begged for her life. Henry took off his undershirt and stuffed the corner of it in her mouth to smother her. She didn’t last long, as her body was already traumatized by the hard blow to the head. Mrs. Mooney shook for a few seconds, gagged, and then stopped moving. Henry figured she died either choking on her own vomit or her windpipe had collapsed.
“Help me carry her out back,” he instructed Becky. Once they were outside, he motioned toward the pot-bellied stove.
“I may be able to get her in there without cutting her up, but I’m not sure,” Henry said. “Go get me that hacksaw in the old barn.”
Becky did as she was told, no talking back or asking questions. She knew Henry had work to do.