Dave Zeltserman - Bad Thoughts

“You don’t want any sudden movements,” he whispered into her ear, his breath stale and harsh, “because those wires I’ve tied around your wrists and ankles will cut straight to the bone. Probably even clean through it. Understand, sweetmeat?”

She nodded her head, tears leaking from her eyes.

Winters took hold of the index finger on her right hand and slid the knife under it. The drive to cut it off was pounding in his head. For a long moment he stared, transfixed on her finger. Then he let it go and took a step away. If he started now he wouldn’t be able to stop and that wouldn’t be any good. He needed her alive for when Shannon showed up.

Those were the plans he had improvised. They weren’t his original plans, but his original plans had gotten shot to hell because he had let Eddie Podansky live.

Podansky. He had gotten careless with him. He should’ve found his family and taken care of them and then taken care of Podansky. But he had let things slide and the Brookline cop was alive to make the connection between him and Elaine Horwitz. After all, Podansky had stopped him only a few blocks from Horwitz’s office, and the cop was suspicious as hell to begin with. And it wasn’t a difficult leap from Charlie to his cousin Herbert and then to the recent killings.

Since the six o’clock news, his prison picture had been shown repeatedly over the airwaves and there was no disguise for a man who looked like Charlie Winters.

He knew about it over an hour before the news. While out of his body he had eavesdropped on DiGrazia. Then DiGrazia was on the phone with Shannon’s wife, telling her about Winters, and arranging with her to pick her up. Hearing Susan’s voice over the phone allowed Winters to navigate to her. After that it was simple. He knew where she was and he knew when DiGrazia would be picking her up. All he had to do was hide in the bushes with an ice pick and wait.

Charlie Winters forced himself to look away from his prisoner. It just wouldn’t do if he got started now, because if he did there would be nothing left of her by the time Shannon got there. Nothing but pieces, anyway. He let out a lung full of sour, fetid breath as he sighed heavily and then sat back down and closed his eyes. A few moments later he was out of his body and watching Shannon.

It was past midnight before Shannon was able to pick up a taxi from Logan airport. He gave the cabbie the address that Winters had given him and then sat back and stared absentmindedly out the window. The cabbie, a bulky middle-aged man with a thick Russian accent, tried to make small talk and he didn’t let Shannon’s lack of responsiveness deter him. After a while he settled in about the recent serial murders.

“At least they know who the person is,” the cabbie said, nodding his bald, square head.

Shannon didn’t respond. He kept his gaze directed towards the window, watching the freezing rain bead up on the glass.

“My shift don’t start ’til eight,” the cabbie went on, “so on TV I saw his picture. Very ugly man.”

“Is that so?” Shannon muttered.

“Yes. Very. I hope they catch him soon. I have wife and children home alone while this sicko loose. I don’t like it.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” the cabbie asked, scowling. “He could hurt them just like others. What a world, huh? When they catch him I hope they exterminate him. Like bug.”

The cabbie stopped talking. The streets were, for the most part, empty and the taxi was able to speed along, stopping only briefly at red lights and not at all at stop signs. The city had a weird, desolate feel to it. As if it were lifeless. As if the buildings were nothing but tombs for the dying. Shannon watched blindly as the city sights passed by. After a few minutes the cabbie broke the silence, commenting about how the killer didn’t deserve to live another second among decent people.

“Not with things he did,” the cabbie declared stubbornly.

“I agree with you.”

“The judges, they probably let him out on technicality.”

“That won’t happen.”

“Let’s hope not. Worse than animal.”

The address Winters had given was in Arlington. When they got close to it, the cabbie asked if Shannon knew which house it was. Shannon said he didn’t.

“With this rain I can’t read numbers,” the cabbie complained as he slowed down and stuck his head out the window to try to read the number posted on one of the houses. He slowed down three more times before pulling up to a small cape-style house. As Shannon paid him, the cabbie noticed the red smudges on his overcoat but didn’t comment on them.

Shannon walked up to the front door and stopped. He didn’t have a gun, he didn’t have anything he could use as a weapon except for his car keys and they wouldn’t do any good unless he could get in close. He left his keys in his pocket. If Winters was watching him, he didn’t want to give him any idea of what he was thinking.

If he were watching him…

The thought struck Shannon that if Winters had been watching him he would’ve stopped by now. He would know that Shannon was right outside the front door and he’d be hiding near it, waiting for him.

Shannon knelt low and moved alongside the house. Blinds had been closed on all the windows and the lights were off. What did Winters tell him, that Susie was dressed up like a Christmas turkey? Which, deciphering his perverse sense of humor, meant he had her in the kitchen, just like he and Herbie had had his mother. Shannon continued on to the back of the house, picked up a small plaster statue of a saint, and tossed it through what he guessed was the kitchen window. As it crashed through, he took a headfirst dive after it. His foot, though, caught in the blinds and, instead of rolling as he fell, he went straight down, hitting the floor with a thud and jamming his shoulder. As he scrambled to his feet he saw Susie tied to the kitchen table. Then something hit him hard on the back of the neck, the blow pushing him back to the floor. Broken glass cut both his hands and face.

“That was stupid,” a soft, singsong voice breathed into his ear, “if any of the neighbors heard anything and call the police I’ll have to kill both of you.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“Kind of cavalier, Billy Boy. Believe it or not, I’m not planning on killing either of you. Not if I can help it. I’ve got other plans. Wonderfully, nasty plans.”

A knee pushed hard into Shannon’s back, knocking the wind out of him. His right hand was jerked behind him and his two fingers, the ones that had been broken years earlier, were grabbed.

“Ah, here’s what I’m looking for,” Winters whispered. Metal clamped down on those fingers and twisted upwards until the bones snapped. Shannon couldn’t help screaming. The floor muffled the noise somewhat.

“A nutcracker,” Winters confided cheerfully. “I love using them.” Then softly, “You need to control yourself better, Billy Boy. As I already told you, if you make noise and neighbors call the police, I will have to kill both of you. Then I’ll give myself up and rest comfortably in prison. If we’re not interfered with, I’ll just continue on as planned. So be a man like your dago partner had been. I did much worse to him and he didn’t once scream like a baby. At least not ’til the end.”

“You smell like shit,” Shannon grunted, his breathing labored. Pain forced hot tears into his eyes. “Ever consider taking a bath?”

“I’ve been trying to get nice and ripe for you, Billy Boy.” Winters held on to Shannon’s broken fingers and used them to force him to his feet.

“Up and at ’em,” Winters whispered from behind. “I have something to show you.”