Psychopath for Hire: A Novel of Extreme Horror

by Matt Shaw

  The officer turned to his partner who was on the radio in the car - no doubt checking my vehicle was insured and taxed. It was. Just a shame it was also registered to my name too. The officer in the car lowered the radio and popped his head out of the window.

  “Martin Andrews?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Detective Martin Andrews?’

  “In a past life.”

  “Shit. I remember you! You were like…”

  I cut him off, “I really need to be somewhere,” I said. “Can we speed things up?”

  The first officer took charge of the situation, “I’m sorry but I’m going to need you to blow into one of these,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a breathalyser. I sighed.

  “Fine.”

  The second officer piped up, “Is this really necessary?” he asked. His reaction earlier suggested he knew who I was and what I had been through. Probably figured I deserved to be cut some slack. His colleague ignored him like the little job’s worth prick that he was.

  I watched impatiently as he attached a disposable mouthpiece to the machine. No doubt, when we were done, he was going to tell me that I could keep it as a souvenir. Standard banter between traffic officer and driver.

  “Okay if you could please blow into the mouth piece and keep blowing until I tell you to stop.”

  “I know how it works,” I hissed.

  I blew into the mouth piece as instructed and stopped when the officer told me to. Seconds later he informed me what we all knew; I was over the limit.

  “Martin Andrews you do not have to say anything but I am arresting you…” he started to read me my rights and I couldn’t help but laugh. His colleague was asking him if we could let it slide. Professional courtesy. The first officer carried on to the end of his little speech - credit where it was due it was well rehearsed - and took his handcuffs from his belt. I turned around to make it easy for him. My final night - guess I’ll be spending it in a cell then… Wonder if the Captain is working the night shift. Be nice to see him before I leave.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Nathan Cole

  The Last Day

  I

  I was sitting in my mother’s old bedroom. I say ‘old’ but if you came round my house without knowing anything about me - you’d think it was still her room. Perfectly tidy, her favourite dress hanging from the wardrobe door, her possessions (make-up etc) sitting on a make-up table in the corner of the room. A wig sitting on the head of a mannequin. Her favourite wig that she took to wearing after she lost her own hair. I was on the chair next to her bed - the one I had moved into her bedroom when it became apparent she wasn’t getting out of bed again. I’ve lost count of the number of hours I had sat here with her, holding her hand. A selfish part of me wishes she was still in her bed despite the pain she’d been in towards the end. I’d give anything to hold her hand again. I’d give anything to tell her I loved her once more. More to the point - I’d sell my soul to the Devil just to hear her tell me how much she loved me too.

  “I’m seeing another guest here tonight, mother.” I said. I always told her when people were coming around to the house. I thought it only fair considering it was her house. I simply took it over after she had passed away. It became mine through default and not because I had earned it. “I think you’ll like him,” I said. “Maybe not at first but once you get through the multitude of layers he has built up over the years and see the real person underneath…Then… I think you’ll like him. He may not seem it on first impressions but believe me when I tell you that he is a good man. His soul has just been corrupted from all the bad he has seen over the years and I can’t blame him for that and neither should God. Please make sure he lets him in and please be there to greet him at the Gates. Help him find his wife just as you’ve helped those I’ve sent before.”

  I liked to imagine mother lying in the bed - not in pain though - listening to what I said. This room, her room, allowed me to feel close to her. I hear her voice in my head louder here than in any other room of the house.

  “I’ll look after him,” her voice clear as day in my head.

  I smiled, “Thank you mum.” I leaned forward from my chair and imagined that I kissed her forehead. In reality I kissed thin air but - in this moment - it still felt real to me. I sat back down again.

  “We’re having a liquid lunch,” I told her. “I offered him anything he wanted - anything. Said he wanted a large whiskey. Maybe two. Wanted the same for dessert. I suggested he might want a nicer meal to go to sleep with but he was adamant. Whiskey.” I laughed, “The guy can put them away. Lots of practice, I guess. I can’t keep up with him. Don’t worry though, I won’t be drinking with him. Not alcohol anyway. I’ll probably have a bit of blackcurrant squash in a wine glass. Give the impression that I’m drinking with him. It’s a bit rude otherwise.” I paused. “I’m going to put him to sleep the same way I put the others to sleep. Use the shower, use the knife. Makes sense. Not sure what I’ll do with the body afterwards though. Always the same when I put men to sleep though. Never really something I want to play with. Not as much as the ladies anyway.” I hesitated. “Sorry, I know you don’t like hearing about that. You just like the thought of me putting them out of their misery. It’s just that I get carried away with it all.” I paused a moment as my own words sunk in; I get carried away with it all. I’m a bad person. I must be. A good person wouldn’t do the things I’ve done to people. A good person wouldn’t do any of this.

  “You help people,” there it was again - crystal clear - her voice.

  “I meant afterwards. After I’ve helped people. Good people wouldn’t do that.”

  I didn’t hear her voice again. Just my own thoughts. It felt as though she had abandoned me. Her silence speaking volumes about what I’d said; good people wouldn’t do what I do.

  “I’m sorry, mum.” I said.

  I liked to think of her helping the people I send to up there. I liked to think of her showing the lost souls the way. We were a double team. I help them here, she helps them there. I just couldn’t help but wonder whether she’d look out for me when my time comes - or would she deny me? Foolish really, I know she isn’t here and yet I still expected her to answer me. Still expected her to put my shaky mind at ease. Nothing though.

  II

  I lit the candle in the centre of the dining room table. Seems weird to do so considering we’re not eating anything. I like to give my guests a perfect night before they go to sleep but it is hard to do that when all they want to do is get drunk before they drift away. Doesn’t matter - not for me to say anything. What the guest wants, the guest gets.

  I set down two table placemats. Usually the plates would go here but not this time. I walked over to the display cabinet against the far wall of the room and pulled out two of my finest glasses. A crystal tumbler for his drink and a crystal wine glass for mine.

  I had popped to the shops earlier in the afternoon and purchased a bottle of Wild Turkey whiskey. Last night he had told me it was his favourite brand. I told him I thought all whiskeys tasted the same. Apparently my opinion was wrong. I walked through to the kitchen and pulled the whiskey bottle from the carrier bag I had earlier dumped on the side. I’ll take his drink through but will leave mine out here on purpose. Don’t want him knowing I’m not drinking with him. He might think of it as rude and cancel the evening. I walked back through to the dining room, bottle in hand, and placed it next to the glass on his mat. I took a step back and admired the table setting. Everything was in its place, including the bell - a necessity for if he changed his mind although given the conversations we’ve had and the stories about him spread across the Internet, I’m pretty sure the evening will run its course.

  All I need now is my guest of honour.

  Martin Andrews

  III

  They had kept me locked in a little holding cell all night long. Charged me too. Have to go to court where I’ll most likely lose my license. Couldn’t help bu
t laugh as they processed the paperwork and that was despite the lecture from the desk sergeant that it wasn’t a laughing matter. Not sure if he is as condescending to all those he books or whether it was just me. Apparently I should have known better - what with being ex-law. I didn't bother answering him back. I Didn’t want to waste any more of my day than was necessary.

  I walked out of there with my head held high as I knew I wouldn’t be around to attend the court date. I checked my phone. A little after ten am and one voice-mail message. Hopefully it was her. Used my one telephone call to dial her number yesterday. She hadn’t answered. Must have been busy. I left a message asking to see her for an appointment at around midday. Told her to leave me a voicemail if I didn’t answer when she called back. Hopefully this is her and she can see me at the required time. Gives me time to do what needs to be done before seeing Cole.

  I dialed for my messages:

  “Hi. It’s me. I got your message. Yes, I can be available at midday. If you can just drop me a text in the morning to confirm. Other than that - I’ll see you then.”

  No other voicemails for me.

  It’s ten o’clock now. I have just about enough time to get to my car and home to get changed. Grab what I need and then I can head back out to her place. It’ll be cutting it fine but it is do-able.

  IV

  She opened the door in her usual manner - hiding behind it so that the neighbours didn’t see what she was wearing. She closed the door behind me as I stepped in. I turned round to see her. She looked great. White underwear in the form of knickers and bra. Plain. Simple. Innocent. Usually just the type that I request. I like the simplicity of it. The innocence. Reminded me of my wife.

  “Wasn’t sure I’d see you again after the last time,” she confessed.

  “Sorry about that, it had been a heavy day.”

  “Come through,” she walked me through to the bedroom.

  I fished into my pocket and pulled out a handful of notes, “Count it!” I told her.

  She counted the money out. There was fifty pounds too much. To my surprise, she owned up to this. Thought she may have kept quiet about it in the hope I’d not notice that I’d made a mistake.

  “Extra?” She looked surprised. “I only charge an extra for anal. I take it we aren’t just cuddling today?”

  She walked towards me and placed her hands on my shirted chest. I can’t pretend it wasn’t nice to feel the touch of a woman again - even if it were on top of my clothes.

  “I need you to do something for me,” I told her.

  “It’s your time,” she purred.

  I put my hands on her shoulder and pushed her back. She fell onto the bed with a giggle. Still thinks this is part of my appointment but it’s not. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a letter.

  “I’ve done some bad things in my time,” I told her. Her face dropped. She realised the extra money wasn’t for the anal she advertised on her site. “And I need to make amends for some of them. I can’t fix everything, I know I can’t but…” I held the letter up, “This fixes some of them.”

  “A letter?”

  “I need you to do me a favour,” I continued, “tomorrow morning I need you to take this into the police station in town and hand it in. That’s it.”

  “Why don’t you post it?”

  “Need to make sure it gets there.”

  “Why don't you take it yourself?”

  “I won’t be around tomorrow.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “Need to go away for a while.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just a letter to my old captain. That’s it.”

  She didn’t look convinced.

  “Can you do that for me?” I asked her.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  I nodded. “I will be.” I pushed her again, “Can you do that for me? Drop the letter in?”

  She nodded, “Yes.”

  “It’s really important.”

  She nodded again.

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I smiled. I’m more than okay. I moved forward and grabbed her by the shoulders. A second later and I pulled her to her feet. Before she knew what was happening I moved in for a kiss, my hands caressing her arse through the soft fabric of her underwear. I pulled away and laughed as I pushed her back onto the bed. She bounced onto the mattress and moved up the bed so that her head was on the pillows. I started to unbutton my shirt as she reached for a condom off the bedside cabinet. We won’t just be cuddling today. If today is to be my last day (and it is) I plan to make the most of it.

  By the time my shirt and trousers were off, she was sitting up motioning for me to go over to her. The rubber was in her other hand, ready to be positioned onto the shaft of my erection. My erection? Been a long time since I had seen him. Not sure if that was down to stress, old age or the alcohol I readily consumed. Whatever the reason for its absence - the fact he was back now was just another reason for me to smile.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Nathan Cole

  The Fat Lady’s Encore

  I

  He hadn’t noticed that my drink was blackcurrant squash. At least, if he had, he wasn’t saying anything. He seemed happy enough to stare into the bottom of his whiskey. He had walked into the house with an air of confidence that I hadn’t noticed on him before. It was as though he knew exactly what he was doing and yet here he was looking unsure of himself. Quiet and subdued. I felt a little uneasy. I guess there was a part of me that still expected a number of uniformed officers to burst in through the door and take me to prison. No one came though. It was just the two of us.

  I looked over to the bell. I couldn’t help but wonder whether he was going to ring it and draw the evening to a close. I’m not really a betting man but if I were forced to - I’d say that outcome is pretty unlikely having spent the afternoon researching more about the man and the cases he had been a part of. Amazing the information you can find online these days - especially when an officer has been disgraced. This was supposed to be a nice evening for him but for some reason he looked troubled.

  “How’s the drink?” I asked him. We’d been sitting for five minutes now and he hadn’t so much as touched a drop. Considering the speed, and ease, with which he drank yesterday I knew there was a problem. I filled the silence, “Just - I haven’t seen you even take a sip yet.”

  He looked straight at me, “What happens afterwards?” he asked.

  I shrugged, “Not sure. I like to think we move on to a better place. When I lost my mother, it helped me think of her somewhere better than here. Somewhere warm and peaceful…”

  “I meant with my body.”

  I tapped the envelope he had given me as he walked into my house, “You know the terms - I can do with your body as I see fit as long as I help you move on from your pain. My only condition.”

  “Curious.”

  “Not sure yet.”

  I genuinely wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. I had done so much with so many people that there wasn’t a lot left for me to try. I had eaten some of them - at least bits of them - and discovered I didn’t have a taste for human flesh. I had read somewhere that it was supposed to taste like pork but it didn’t. Not to me anyway. Couldn’t say what it did taste of other than sickening; a strong taste of iron. I had laid with some of the corpses, an experience I didn’t find displeasurable although that was only after I managed to get things going properly - basically, in order to fuck a corpse, I found I had to be in the right frame of mind. If we were to talk about it now, I’d say it was disgusting. If we were to talk about it when I was in the mood for intercourse - I’d say it was a viable option. I had cut away the skin from some and fashioned masks from them - even left the house on Halloween wearing one of them. Quite a few people commented on my outfit that year. They said it looked amazing and asked where I had got it from. I told them it was something I had just thrown together from bits I had dug u
p from around the house. I remember them laughing and calling me a sick son of a bitch. If only they knew. I had burned skin away from some skulls - and other bones - with a welding torch I had. Soon as the skin started to bubble it was easy to slide it from the bone. And then - with just the bone - I had attempted to create items from them such as ash-trays and cookie jars. I never was very good at D.I.Y - or Arts and Crafts - so the results were always slapdash at best. But at least I tried. And that wasn’t all - I had even tried putting a human head in the microwave to see what would happen. The skin bubbled, the eyes popped… Well to sum up, it ruined the microwave. Buried that with the rest of the body as mother looked down upon me with that disapproving look I had known so well from when she was alive.

  “Does it matter?” I asked him. “You’ll be dead.”

  It surprised me the amount of people who were curious as to what I was going to do with them once they had died. A morbid curiosity I guess but one that didn’t need to be answered.

  He shook his head and picked his glass up. In the same swift (and sudden) motion he downed his whiskey. I reached out for the bottle, picked it up and went to pour him another but he stopped me.

  “No?”

  He shook his head. “I’m ready,” he said.

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Usually the nights went on a little longer than this. People seemed to want to make the most of their last night. I guess it gave them the choice to call things off. He just wanted it done though.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  “We move things upstairs.”

  I stood up and he did the same. I walked out of the dining room and up the stairs towards the bedroom. I opened the door and held it there for him. He hesitated a moment or two on the landing.

  “In there?”

  “You can just go in there and get unchanged. Then, when you’re ready if you could go through to the bathroom and I’ll meet you in there,” I said.