Len Levinson - Without Mercy

He took out a cigarette and lit it with a match. Passing two joggers on the Seventy-second Street road, he felt a rumble of hunger in his stomach. He headed west, toward the cheap restaurants on Broadway, where he could get the most for the four dollars he had in his pocket.

He bought a Daily News near the subway stop on Seventy-second Street and Central Park West and stopped beside an apartment building to glance through it. On page four near the bottom he found what he was looking for. “Derelict Found Stabbed in Bowery Hotel.”

He read the item and was pleased that the police hadn’t linked the killing of the bum to the Slasher, because he wanted to make his reputation for killing women, not bums. Tucking the newspaper under his arm, he whistled a tune and made his way through the early morning crowds to Broadway, and decided to have breakfast at the McDonalds on Seventy-first Street. He passed two cops on their beat but they didn’t take any special notice of him. He didn’t look like the picture of Kowalchuk that they’d put in the paper. They’d never get him now.

Entering the McDonald’s, he walked to the counter and got in line. People looked at his filthy clothes and he realized he smelled a little bad, but to hell with them. If they didn’t like it they could kiss his ass. He came to the head of the line and ordered his breakfast from a skinny little black girl, and he thought that this was a decent girl who worked for her living in a decent way, unlike the Times Square porno girls who were disgusting. He paid her three dollars and a quarter for the meal and carried his tray to an empty table, sitting down and digging in.

He had to do something about his money situation, he realized as he chewed on sausage. He didn’t even have enough for a pack of cigarettes. He couldn’t drive a cab or get any other kind of job because they had his Social Security number. This meant he’d have to steal some money, and he didn’t have a gun for a hold-up. Besides, he didn’t like the idea of a hold-up. He was the Slasher and he was at war against women. The best thing would be to kill another porno girl and take whatever money she had with her.

But what porno girl? He didn’t want to go to Times Square because it was crawling with cops looking for him, and he didn’t have any money to go in peep shows and places like that. He couldn’t even afford to buy a copy of the New York Review of Sex to find out what the whores were doing. He was in a tight spot, that was for sure. But he’d get out of it somehow. If he’d outsmarted the whole New York Police Department for as long as he had, he should be able to get together a few hundred bucks from some filthy bitch someplace.

He thought about the famous porno girls who acted in hardcore movies, but didn’t know how to go about finding where one lived. He didn’t dare to try and pick up one of the street corner whores because he was too famous for that now. His victim would have to be somebody easy to get to who deserved to be killed and robbed. Some really rotten bitch. Someone who deserved to die.

Shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth he racked his brain but could only come up with famous porno actresses or faceless whores, all of whom were too dangerous for him to go near. He’d have to think of somebody in a different walk of life, someone completely unexpected.

And then her face materialized out of the remaining bits of food on his plate, and he wondered why he hadn’t thought of her right off. He’d given her thousands of dollars in gifts and cash, and she never gave him any pussy. He found out she was sleeping with a sanitation worker. Kowalchuk had been in love with Evelyn Ditchik and she’d taken advantage of him like all the others, only worse.

He smiled as he sipped his coffee. He thought he’d enjoy killing her more than any of the others, because of what she’d done to him. His heart beat faster and he felt lightheaded. Evelyn Ditchik, are you gonna be surprised when you see me again.

Rackman walked into Jenkins’ office, a newspaper folded under his arm. “Anything new?” he asked.

Jenkins glanced up from some correspondence. “Relative to what?”

“The Slasher.”

“Some bums at the Crandon Hotel told detectives that Jackie Doolan was bragging about helping the cops identify the Slasher on the night he was killed.”

Rackman sat down slowly. “Wow.”

Jenkins nodded. “Looks like the Slasher was a guest in the Crandon that night, but the Crandon had eighty-four guests and none of the ones we talked to saw anybody who looked like our picture of Kowalchuk.”

“He must have changed his appearance somehow.”

“Yeah. Downtown detectives have combed the Bowery for him but haven’t come up with anything. Looks like he got away with another one.”

Rackman pinched his lips together. “That poor fucking Jackie Doolan.”

“He should’ve kept his mouth shut.”

Rackman took the newspaper from underneath his arm and unfolded it. It was the latest copy of the New York Review of Sex and the headline read, “Balling the Blind”.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “You ever read one of these?”

“No.”

“I’ve been reading them lately because I know the Slasher reads them, and I—”

Jenkins interrupted him. “You’ve been reading them because you want to pull your prick, you bastard.”

“Not true, and anyway, I got an idea from the damn thing. There are classified ads in the back from people who want to get laid, and I thought maybe we should put an ad in ourselves and hope to hook the Slasher with it.”

Jenkins thought for a few moments, then held out his hand. “Lemme see.”

Rackman handed over the paper and Jenkins turned to the “Puerile Personals” in the back. He put on his half-moon reading glasses and bent over the page.

Foxy Bi Female, 24, will share her lovely body with other bi’s. I’m for real, sincere, and horny.

Send photo and phone number to P.O.B. 813 Waterbury, CT 06720.

Swinging Beautician Seeks men for French, Greek, English. New York City area. Write Martha, Box 21, 219 West 42nd Street, New York, N.Y. 10036.

Smell My Nectar

I’m a sweet, hot & juicy young surfer girl with love-soaked panties. Guaranteed strong scent. Send $10 check/m.o. to: Cindy, Box 2005, Laguna Beach, CA 92021.

Nympho Chinese Girl seeks white men for fun and games.

Send $1 for my photo, name, address, phone no. Cum Ling, Box 4732, NYC, 10019.

Jenkins looked up over his half-moon reading glasses. “This is some sick shit here.”

“I know, but we’re dealing with a sick guy. He used to read this paper every week and probably still does. If we put in the right ad, he might respond to it.”

Jenkins bent over the page again.

Attractive 19-Year Old Male wants attr. W/F age 18-22 for companionship. No pros. Write: P.O.B. 321, Radio City Station, New York, N.Y. 10019.

White Male, 44, sincerely wants to meet dominant females that enjoy wearing garters, stockings and high heel shoes. P.O.B. 4379, Bklyn, N.Y. 11201.

Jenkins took off his eyeglasses and looked at Rackman. “Does anybody answer these ads?”

“They must, otherwise there wouldn’t be four full pages of them.”

“I guess it’s worth a try. Who’s gonna write the ad, you?”

“I thought I’d get one of those reporters to do it.”

“Good idea. They’re all a bunch of sex degenerates.”

Kowalchuk returned to the Ukrainian neighborhood in the East Village for the first time since he had left a few weeks before. He walked straight down St. Marks Place, and at the corner of Second Avenue he picked up the receiver of a public telephone attached to the side of the Gem Spa. He dialed a number and listened to it ring a few times. It was seven-thirty in the morning and he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast the morning before.