Speechless, the only thing that comes out of Leroy's mouth is slobber mixed with strands of pink puke.
"You never worked a day in your life," Zed says, "complete lack of determination. Lack of discipline. You got no redeeming characteristics at all. Is that enough to kill you?" Zed shakes his head. "You bein' a dirty, doped up fuckhead ain't enough for me to kill ya," he smiles, "but a legendary BBQ recipe is. And you're..." Zed pokes Leroy's nose, "the secret ingredient."
Zed opens a cabinet that displays knives, bone saws, and other butchering tools.
"It's a long process," the short, skinny man chooses an old-fashioned straight razor, "first a victim's brought back to the smokehouse in good condition. Bruising the body hurts the meat, and boy, you got a crack in your head the size of the liberty bell. We gotta let that sucker heal."
Zed makes small incisions in Leroy's stomach and thighs. The spike-haired victim sucks air through his teeth and clenches up his muscles.
"Next, the meat's injected with flavors and salt water solution. Garlic, onions, carrots, celery, almost like a marinade. As well as a good blood thinner. Well at the beginning. After the toxins escape your liver, we let it thicken back up.
That blood keeps the meat moist later on. That's one reason I like to make these little cuts, to see how fast you bleed out and how much I gotta tweak it.
"I'll keep you alive until your skin grows around that there hook, makin' it a part of you. That's usually enough time to get all the drugs outta yer system.
"After I get ya pumped fulla nutrients and clean out the drugs, I slice open your throat and bleed ya like a pig. After that, we smoke you with hickory and just a bit of maple wood."
"I'm gonna die like a pig?" Leroy gurgles.
"Keep cryin' and you'll die like a bitch." Zed pierces Leroy's abdomen with a syringe full of marinade and presses the plunger to circulate his concoction into the meat.
"Oh he's bad, bad, Leroy Brown, baddest man in the whole damn town, meaner than ol' King Kong, gettin' smoked like a Kobe hog."
* * * * *
Austin, a muscular line cook with ear length sandy blonde hair, sits in a booth nursing an ice cold draft. The beer is amber in color, with hints of pumpkin and spice. Kobe's very own Octoberfest brew. In front of him is a big, beautiful, BBQ sandwich.
Krystal, a tan twenty-two year old waitress, with her brown hair in a ponytail, walks up to the table. "How's the food sir?" She smiles brightly accentuating her dimples.
Austin takes a huge bite of his Grinder. "Awesome," he says, "almost like I made it myself."
Krystal rolls her hazel eyes, "you just add the sauce and shred it," her white teeth peak out from her plush lips, "your Uncle Zed does the real work."
"I would cook it too if he'd ever let me in that damn smokehouse."
"He will someday," Krystal rubs Austin's head vigorously, making a mess of his pretty golden hair, "I'm sure he has his reasons."
"I guess so," Austin chomps into the grinder, "you almost off?"
"I'm finishing my outs now, I only have one customer left, and he better tip well."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, or else he's not coming over later," Krystal gives a subtle wink.
"You seen Katie?" Austin asks with BBQ sauce dripping down his chin.
"Nope," Krystal smoothes a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "she hasn't shown up for her shifts the past couple days, Jess and I stopped by her apartment last night, but she wasn't home."
"Hope she's okay."
"She'll turn up. Jessica's been blasting about it all over Twitter and Facebook, I'm sure somebody'll let us know where she is." Krystal gives him a quick peck on the cheek and walks into the kitchen.
Chapter III
Breezeblocks
As told by Curt
Her eyes looked like glass this morning, and her cheeks were puffy and blue. Hard to believe it was only a couple months ago she waltzed into my life.
I've always loved the BBQ Pitt, even before it became famous. The rib meat falls right off the bone, the brisket melts in your mouth, and the pulled pork can make a grown man cry tears of joy.
The Pitt has a smokehouse, and I swear any animal that breathes or breeds in Kobe might end up in there.
Zed, the proprietor of the Pitt hired my beautiful Emmaline to be a waitress because she was smart and didn't take any shit. The fact her ass was hot enough to melt butter didn't hurt her cause.
Zed knows a business can thrive simply by keeping the community happy. He gave Grinder sandwiches to the Kobe High football team and played cards with the Mayor. He could easily go into politics, but getting his hands dirty in pulled pork is better than getting them dirty in bullshit. At least, that's what he tells everyone.
Emmaline greeted me with a smile and asked for my order. I could see the crystals dancing in her eyes. Specks of teal mingling inside a navy blue circle. The fading freckles next to her nose were cute, however they were a reminder that the long days of summer were coming to a close.
"I'll have a margarita," my words resonated in her small round ears. At least, I hope they did.
"We've been getting a lot of those tonight."
"New here?" I asked.
"That noticeable, huh?" Her strawberry blonde curls bounced ever so slightly as she chuckled.
"Nah, I just come here a lot and I've never seen you. A few years ago a Mexican joint popped up. I wouldn't say a bad word about their burritos, chalupas, or the complimentary chips and salsa, but they can't make a margarita like the Pitt. I've been to a lot of different bars, resorts, and damn near every Mexican restaurant in Columbus, but none of them come close."
"Oh, yeah?"
The smile on her face prepared me for a retort.
"What about Tres Amigos?" she asked, with a wide grin.
"Testing me huh? Do you mean Tres Amigos on Twenty-Three or the one in Grove City?" I asked.
"Twenty-three," she said. "It's closer and no offense, but I'd rather Mexican's cook my Mexican food. Not that anything's wrong with Americans, I just think it's more authentic," she said.
"You got a point. Tres Amigos goes heavy on the tequila, but they lack in the flavor department. I'm surprised Zed didn't make you try one yet."
"He made me the best Bloody Mary I ever had. I was in one night with a couple friends," Emmaline said, "he covered for the bartender so she could go home to her kid or something. Anyway, he mixed up a Bloody Mary with all sorts of spices and blended it. Then he made each of us a flaming Doctor Pepper. Coolest thing I ever saw."
"Did he light the fire in his mouth?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer, he does it for pretty girls all the time. I think the man's gotten laid for making those crazy shots, almost as much as he's gotten laid for being a rich bachelor.
"He sure did. Then he gave me a job."
"Right on the spot?"
"Right there in all my drunken glory." She looked down at her server pad. "Can I get you some wings?" She asked, "Or a Grinder to go with your world famous margarita?"
"Maybe later, I just got off work so the drink'll do me fine." I continued to take her in, her subtle scent, those curls. I wanted to talk to her for hours but, at the same time, I couldn't wait for her to walk away for a different point of view.
I hung back to socialize until it died down to just the regulars. And us. With her mind on business, she never gave up an opportunity to engage me, to make sure I was watching. It's a dance performed by many but rarely executed with such finesse.
Emmaline wore jeans that hugged around her tightly, but they didn't show everything. Other girls wore yoga pants and leggings, clothes that reveal ass and titties for tips. Emmaline didn't have to. Her charm was enough.
Zed rolled his eyes when he saw me help her clean the place after the Pitt closed. He always said the easiest way to get free labor was to put a pretty face next to a heavy workload. Good 'ol Zed knew the dance even better than I did.
The BBQ Pitt was on the other side of the woods
from where I lived. It took less time for me to walk than to drive. After a few nights talking till three or so, Emmaline feigned some interest. She got off early one night before the sun set, so we went out for coffee.
We talked about where I'd been and the life she led. I asked her to come up to my cabin when she dropped me off. She declined, that's how I knew she was perfect.
I continued to go and see her but slowly left earlier and earlier instead of at last call. And then I stopped going in at all.
She asked Zed and some of the other regulars about me, what I was up to, where I'd been, that sort of thing. It was all part of the game, her chasing me, even for just a friendship. She called my cell phone, shot me a text here and there. I was never rude, never dismissive.
I went into the Pitt for a quick bite to eat and I saw her there, I always memorize their schedules. When performing the dance, I have to be precise. She was excited to see me. We chatted for a bit, and she asked me on a date for that weekend. I informed her I would be out of town visiting a publishing house for a few days, but when I got back she'd be the first to know.
The thing about women is that even the most prudent ones respect patience. If she turns you down and you act like it never happened, she begins to pursue you.
I booked the hotel for my business trip, ordered my plane tickets, and did everything online using a personal credit card, for authorization if the cops got wise. I drove to the airport in my green Honda and bought a parking pass for the weekend. I walked through the airport for a bit. Watching couples greet one another, a beautiful sight indeed. After about an hour I took a cab back to my cabin in the woods.
Emmaline had a reliable car, an old two thousand three Toyota Corolla. At about ten thirty that night, I slid a nail into her back tire. Just enough to start a slow leak.
I casually strolled through the woods to my humble cabin. I wanted to surprise her. The basement in most houses can be so lifeless. I turned mine into a guest room set up for the game, with all the luxuries a beautiful girl like Emmaline could ever desire.
Once I tidied up our future home, I went to look for my damsel in distress. I was driving my silver Dodge Charger, the same car I always drive this time of year, the same car I drove all those years ago when it happened.
She wasn't far from the Pitt, on a back road, conveniently near my cabin. She was nervous when I pulled up, especially since she had never seen my Charger before, she hadn't been in Kobe long enough to know my dark side. She was relieved when I appeared at her window.
Emmaline had no way to change the tire and it was awfully dark. I told her I would bring her back in the morning to fix the car. The lie that usually gets stuck in my teeth made it out quite easily this time around.
I opened the passenger door like a gentleman, and she slid onto my heated leather seat.
"Ooh, that's warm," Emmaline said with wide eyes.
"I can't buy a car without them anymore. Where to?"
"Well, it's late. I should get home. I thought you were out of town."
"I wanted to be with you this weekend," I said.
Her familiar laugh sweetly tingled my ear drums. "It's not even the weekend yet, Curt, It's only Wednesday." She fixed her shirt and looked down at her pretty pink fingernails. "What happened? Did they cancel?" Emmaline looked up inquisitively.
"No, they just rescheduled for next month," I said.
Her brow relaxed as she smiled, her trust, so warm in my hands. She never expected the sting, and certainly not the slumber. The syringe pierced the meat of her thigh. Before she could scream, it was lights out.
* * * * *
When Emmaline and I woke up naked in her new bed, she asked what happened.
I lied.
I told her we both drank the night away with Zed after the Pitt closed.
"Was I that drunk?" she asked as the peak of her nipple rubbed against my stomach.
"I barely remember cashing out."
Her eyes half closed, and with a smile stretched across her face like a Cheshire cat, she took my hand and spread out my fingers. She let go and tussled my chest hair. Our bodies intertwined.
"I'm glad we made love," Emmaline cooed.
Her magical teal eyes broke through the hangover my little potion created.
"I wish I hadn't blacked out," she said.
"Would you wish upon a star?" I asked.
She laughed and rubbed her nose against mine. Her smile. So enticing, so perfect. She was careful not to kiss my mouth, a very sweet girl putting me before her morning breath. Her small velvet hands pressed against my chest as she climbed on top of me.
She leaned in millimeters away from my face. The heat of her breath toasted my earlobes. "I don't think I need a star, do I?"
Her thick, ruby red lips explored the contours of my neck as she positioned herself. Her light red hair smelled like lavender, and her skin was soft and warm. I squeezed and massaged her entire body, learning each sensual spot as we rolled around my guest bed.
We held each other briefly until we both traveled back into dreamland.
When Emmaline woke up the questions flowed out of her mouth. She asked where her phone was. I lied. Where her car was, I lied.
Every question she asked, I gave a fictitious answer. She rolled onto her side and I gave her a shot of slumber solution in her butt cheek.
* * * * *
The second day she woke up, the pieces started to surface. Of course, she overreacted.
Emmaline asked for a ride home, begged for one phone call. She screamed and hit me until the skin on her knuckles cracked and bled.
All couples fight.
I gave her another dose of medicine and locked Emmaline in her new home.
I walked three miles through the woods and caught a cab to the airport. I paid in cash of course, we're all under record.
My fake vacation to New York was over. I really do have a book deal, but it hasn't been finalized, so my alibi can stand, but I will never need one, at least not in Kobe.
The moon and stars were aligned for my ritual. When I arrived home, I found Emmaline clawing at the basement windows. Her pink fingernails jagged with splinters stuck beneath the cuticles.
"Please just let me go," her voice cracked.
"I can't," I shouted, "I love you, Emma."
"I told you, my name's Katie! You keep calling me Emmaline! I really like you, I'll read your books, I'll make your lunch and pack it with little notes. Please stop. I just want to go home. I'll still... I'll still make love to you, I'll do anything you want, just let me get back to my car." Her soft sweet voice dissipated into hot gravel, churning in her throat.
I turned the water on in the tub.
"Please don't go..." I shook my head, "I love you so."
Her hands pressed against my chest as she stared deeper into my eyes.
"Just break my heart," I said.
I picked Emmaline up and threw her into the bathtub. The hot water pelted her angelic skin and soaked into her strawberry blonde hair. She choked and swallowed bubbles until her lungs filled up with water.
Then it stopped.
I sat with my back pressed against the cement wall, and it happened. I was able to cry again.
Like the first time.
Her eyes looked like glass this morning. Lifeless. Broken. Katie was Emmaline, was everyone else I've murdered. The game is over. Our anniversary will come again, and briefly, I'll be able to bring back the happiness that was stolen from me.
Chapter IV
What Reagan was Talkin' 'Bout
Empty cigarette packs blow in the wind like tumbleweeds as the sun rises over the Manor Carryout parking lot. Skaggs paces near the side of the convenience store, careful not to step in front of the window. Loitering is a quick way to get the police called in this part of town. He kneels down, picks up a half smoked cigarette butt and lights up.
A momentary calm.
Like clockwork, as soon as the flame burns down to the filter, the anxiety return
s.
Skaggs isn't difficult to pick out of a crowd. Abscesses hide beneath puss filled pimples and his skinny arms and legs suggest an infomercial level of malnutrition. The look of his dark black hair is wet, greasy, like it was dipped in trash can water and left out in the sun to dry.
He's the Bayside beauty queen.
* * * * *
Jaybird pushes the convenience store door open and walks outside. His large aviator sunglasses shield him from the morning sun. Another white man raised and molded in an urban lower class community.
His knuckles are the size of walnuts from the heads he's had to crack open growing up in Bayside Commons. A checkered past he's proud to have at his heels.
Jay notices the stench from Skaggs before he sees him. "Goddamnit," he mutters under his breath.
"What up, Jay?" Skaggs yells, his unique aroma stems from poor dental hygiene, among other factors. The junkie smiles with cracked teeth, exposing rotting enamel around his puffy red gum line. A root canal isn't on an addict's priority list, but it could do Skaggs some good with the ladies.
Jaybird looks towards Skaggs but not at him. He hates this piece of shit. Junkies are the reason he got out of the cocaine game in the first place. He just wants some peace. Potheads don't hassle him at sunrise.
"I ain't gonna serve you," Jaybird opens up a pack of Krisp menthol cigarettes. They have a recessed filter, to offer a nice bump of dope in a jiffy. A trick from his younger days when he used to dabble in his own wears. He lights up and walks past Skaggs to a black Escalade.
"What the fuck ya mean you won't serve me?" Skaggs yells, "I just want some blow," the addict runs up to the SUV. "You got the best in town, homie." His lips are cracked in the center from dehydration. Blood and scabbed skin are like junkie lipstick in Bayside. His eyes are mere reminders that a soul used to reside inside, but the dope chased it away.
Jaybird thinks about splitting his head open, swelling up those vacant eyes. What kind of idiot yells about coke in the middle of a parking lot?
"You and Leroy been actin' a fool lately," Jaybird says, "breaking into houses, stealing purses, anything you can do to buy dope. We got a social stigma attached to this part of town. I'm tired of you morons feeding fuel to the flame."
Kobe Page 2
