J. Konrath: Bloody Mary

“I am one scary son of a bitch,” he says to himself.

Careful to avoid the blood pool, he pads over to the closet and quickly dresses. On his cell phone, he presses 3 on speed dial.

“I’ve got another one.”

Chuckles on the other end. “Busy little bee, aren’t you?”

“Come get her.”

“I’m already out the door.”

He stands in the corner. Staring at the mess. Memorizing it.

Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock.

“Who the hell is it?”

“The password is psycho . Open up.”

He grins, letting Derrick inside. The man is short, compact, with acne scars on his chubby cheeks and a lazy eye that always looks to the left.

Derrick views the room and whistles.

“Damn! This is some piece of work. I’m going to need a shovel to clean this up.”

“So?” He hands Derrick fifty dollars. “Go buy a shovel.”

“Be right back, tiger.”

In half an hour, Derrick returns. He wheels in the cart, the body bag resting on top.

“I thought you went to get a shovel.”

“It’s in the bag.”

Derrick gets to work, rolling up the body and the mess in the plastic tarps lining the floor.

“Boy, you really did a number on her,” Derrick says. “Where’s her heart?”

The killer belches, pounds his chest.

Derrick laughs. “Talk about having heartburn.”

The joke is lost on him. He’s becoming anxious. Now that the rage has passed, he has to make sure everything goes according to plan.

“How are you going to dispose of her?”

“This one I think I’ll cremate. I can’t risk one of my famous two-for-one specials. The casket would leak.”

“I want these to be found at the morgue, same as before.”

The killer hands him a plastic bag.

“Ears? That’s a riot.” Derrick brings the bag to his mouth and yells, “Hello! Can you hear me?”

Idiot. But beggars can’t be choosers.

“Leave the earrings on. They’re important.”

“No problem. These will be easier to sneak in than those arms. Hell, I could keep them in my pocket.”

“Her things are in the bathroom. Take what you want. There’s a grand in her purse.”

“Righto, chief.”

The cleanup continues for another fifteen minutes. The body and bloody tarps are zipped up in the bag.

“I’ll line the room with new plastic sometime next week.”

“Sooner.”

“Sooner? You got the itch again already?”

“Not yet. But it could come back.”

Derrick didn’t know about the headaches. He thought he was dealing with a run-of-the-mill sex killer.

“Damn. I’m glad I’m not a good-looking chick with you loose in this city.”

That won’t save you. When the time comes, I’ll gut you as well.

They leave the room, Derrick pushing the cart, the killer walking alongside. A few liquor-stained eyes peek at them, then quickly turn away. Derrick’s van is parked in the alley, behind the killer’s car. He pushes the cart into the rear, spring-loaded legs collapsing as he eases it in.

“Hey, you think, maybe, next time you do one of these women…”

“You want to watch?”

Derrick’s face lights up. “Yeah! I mean, I’m no stranger to this shit. I’m not as, uh, extreme , as you are. But I’ve done things.”

You pimple-faced freak. I know about the things you’ve done. You make my stomach turn.

“We’ll see. A tag-team match might be fun.”

“A tag-team. Yeah, I like that.”

He claps Derrick on the shoulder, forces a grin. He knows the hardest thing about getting away with murder is disposing of the body, and having a mortician under his thumb makes things a lot easier. Still, there’s no way he’ll ever let Derrick see him in action. He might have to get rid of him sooner than expected.

“Hey, I’ll call you when I drop the ears off at County.”

“Make sure you wash them, first. I don’t want to leave trace.”

“Got it. See you, man.”

Derrick climbs into his van and pulls away. The killer takes a deep breath, sucking in foul alley air that reeks of garbage.

It doesn’t bother him at all.

Nothing does.

“That cat’s driving me crazy.”

Herb pushed away from the computer and shot Mr. Friskers a look. Mr. Friskers howled his reply.

“He probably wants to be let out of the carrier.”

“I’d sooner let Manson out. What are you going to do with him, anyway?”

I rubbed my temples, trying to work out the tension. We’d gotten back to the station two hours ago, and the cat hadn’t shut up for any longer than it took to catch his breath.

“I’ve called all of Davi’s model friends, her ex-boyfriend, and her mom. No one wants the cat.”

“What a surprise. He’s such a lovable bundle of joy.”

“I also called a few pet stores. Apparently the heat wave doesn’t affect a cat’s promiscuity – the stray population is the highest it’s ever been, and no one is accepting any more cats.”

Herb stroked his mustache, an indication he was lost in thought.

“Stray… that’s not a bad idea. Just let the little monster free to prowl the city. That’s what he’s howling about anyway.”

I considered it. On one hand, a cat that wore diapers probably wouldn’t last too long on the street. On the other hand, Mr. Friskers was so damn mean he might do fine. I wouldn’t even put it past him to join a gang and start robbing banks.

“Fine. We’ll release the cat into the wild. You coming?”

“I’m staying. Kiss him good-bye for me.”

I picked up the carrier, which caused Mr. Friskers to increase the pitch of his howling. A brief, chilly elevator ride later, we were in the back parking lot.

“Okay, my loud friend. This is where we go our separate ways.” I unlatched the door on the cat carrier and opened it up. “Go. Be free.”

Mr. Friskers stayed where he was.

“Go on. You got your wish.”

The cat howled again, but didn’t move.

Figuring he just needed a little help, I lifted up the cat carrier and tilted it forward. The cat spread out all four paws and clung to the sides, refusing to be dumped out.

I knelt down and peered into the carrier. “What’s the problem, cat?”

He stared back, as if asking me the same question.

I thought about leaving him there. He’d get the hint eventually. Chances are he’d run off as soon as I was out of sight.

Then I thought about my mother.

Sometimes the ones who need help the most are the ones who refuse to accept it.

“Fine,” I said, latching the carrier door. “You’re stuck with me, then.”

He yowled his reply.

Herb wasn’t impressed to see his nemesis still hanging around.

“I thought you were going to let the cat out of the bag.”

“I did. He wouldn’t go.”

“Did you try poking him with a stick?”

“No, I didn’t. Maybe I should check a taser out of the armory and zap him a few times.”

“Want me to go get it?”

“I’ll save it as a last resort.”

Herb took a bite out of a rice cake. He made a face, found a packet of saccharine in his pocket, and dumped it onto the remaining half.

“Want one?”

“Thanks, but I’m trying to cut back.”

Herb took another bite, then added more sweetener. “At least the cat finally quieted down.”

I looked into the carrier. Mr. Friskers had curled up into a little ball of fur.

“He’s sleeping. Maybe we can get some work done.”

“Those few minutes of silence were all I needed. I got a name to go with that last number Davi called. Cell phone, belongs to a man named Colin Andrews. Twenty-three, black, lives on 95th and Wabash.”