A burly man with glasses and an overflowing belly walked in and stopped, stared at Paul's hand, then the mirror. Paul ducked and blew past him hurriedly.
"Crazy fuck," the guy muttered.
Paul walked briskly to his car, spitting obscenities through his teeth. He didn't like the way the guy looked at him. He didn't like interruptions. He decided he would wait until the guy left the gas station. Then, Paul decided, he'd follow him.
He didn't need any planning at all. He was past that. He'd planned the first three carefully, taking his time, following them, introducing himself, sizing them up, grooming them to get what he wanted, and then tearing them to pieces. But he was so good now. He didn't need to plan anymore. He had this down pat. He could just pick any pretty girl he wanted and get her. It was that easy.
Paul sang along to The Beatles in the car as he pounded on the steering wheel. He felt calm and elated now that he had something to go after. It wasn't necessarily the bearded man. Paul was interested in the bumper sticker that said, "My Child CHEERS at Southside Junior High!"
A cheerleader! They never gave him the time of day when he went to school. He'd finally have a chance. It would be just like a high school fantasy. The charming jock deflowers Daddy's little all-star cheerleader, Daddy gets mad at jock, everything turns out in jock's favor.
He followed the man at a distance so his vehicle was about the size of a bee. He liked this part. He was in control. The man didn’t know someone was following him and Paul felt like a cougar crouched down in the brush, calmly waiting for an opportunity. His blood pressure never rose and his heart rate was slow and steady. In fact, a great sense of calm and euphoria washed over him like a deep meditative state. He was focused and precise with his methods programmed into his system. He always did everything right.
The man drove deeper into the suburbs and slowed his vehicle. Once Paul approached, he noticed they were in a school zone. He was ready to speed up, but became interested when the bearded man pulled over to the curb. Paul slowly eased his car into a U-turn and parked across the street. He watched with interest.
Two girls bounded into the van. One looked about eleven years old, but he was more interested in the older one, maybe about age fourteen. She resembled Sophia a little. Her hair was a little lighter, but it would do. He waited a bit for the man to pull away. Then he followed him into a cookie-cutter neighborhood.
The neighborhood zigzagged to and fro, and it made Paul wonder if the man noticed he was following him. Paul hung back and parked. The van was distinct enough. He hoped he’d be able to recognize it if it was parked in a driveway. He hoped the bearded man didn’t have a garage. Most of the houses in this neighborhood didn’t.
He started the car again and drove in the direction the man drove earlier. The street was nearly a mile long, but after some careful hunting, he was able to spot the van.
He’d need to get rid of his car, but he was sure he could get the girl in under three days, maybe even sooner if he acted quickly.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sophia: Phoenix Rising
Her nerves felt bundled up in the pit of her stomach. That sensation combined with the burn of not eating was making her ill. It was as if she could feel the weight dripping off of her moment by moment. She felt disoriented and wasn’t quite sure where she was. How was it possible for a woman such as herself to be this lost and confused?
Sophia picked a direction and walked. She had no idea if this led her to more trouble or to a solution. She told herself she’d find out when she got there. Ideas usually came to her the quickest when she was walking anyway.
She swallowed hard and tried to clear her head. The dizzying lights and whizzing cars made it hard to put her thoughts in order, but she knew she had to at least get out of Las Vegas. She’d called Ti, so at least Argie had a food and care plan. She ran through the catalog of her apartment’s contents. She couldn’t think of much that Ti could really get a hold of, nothing that seemed outright suspicious or glaringly obvious. Unless, of course, she dug around enough--but she could explain any suspicious findings very easily.
At least Paul hadn’t taken her bag. She still had some cash.
A drugstore. She had a shopping list forming in her head. A lighter, a disposable razor and a pair of tweezers. It was a hell of a lot less conspicuous than buying a knife. It just looked like she needed a bit of grooming, maybe just forgot a couple of things. She asked for a pack of cigarettes too, just to be on the safe side. Flirted a little with the pimply guy behind the counter. Used an American accent.
Her boots feeling like iron weights, she slogged in to one of the casinos. She’d have to find a bathroom with a single stall or at least one that locked from the inside. The smell of burning plastic would surely attract attention, but the cigarette smell might cover it up. Or so Sophia hoped.
Finally, she found a small casino café with a single stall bathroom. It had a ventilation system and a lock from the inside. She smiled. Luck was back on her side. Using the lighter to burn the plastic off the razor would take about ten minutes tops. That was enough time to figure out what to do with this small weapon. As the razor's plastic bubbled away in little pink blobs, Sophia thought.
She was a woman. People could trust her. She should probably go to New Orleans and take care of things since Claude might be after her, or the cops after him—or her. She was done with him. He was in the way and no longer useful to her anyway. Paul seemed smart, determined, and always knew what to do. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that the little episode with the prostitute was to test her. She could play this game though. She'd test him back. First, though, she had to be sure it was just the two of them.
Just as she'd made her decision, the razor popped out of the handle. She now had a small, portable weapon that she could whip out in the blink of an eye.
She started out wandering slowly around one of the casinos, the crowds swarming like mystified insects around the colorful, loud machines. Not one familiar face.
Sophia left and began wandering through a seedy section lined with several titty bars. She had a strange feeling this might be the place to be…strippers probably dropped off the face of the earth all the time. She walked around the outer edge of the parking lot and squatted beside the dumpster, the razor blade squeezed between the inside of her boot and her skin. It cut into her skin, just a nip, but she felt a certain strange comfort from it.
The acrid, sour smell of the dumpster and her crouching position reminded her of the night she’d first seen Paul kill someone. How she’d admired his prowess then, his sharp, clean movements…and how riveted she was by him. Maybe she’d known all along he was a killer, just like Claude, awakening some ancient, taboo sensual world she’d once visited.
She touched the back of her head. It felt as if there was a bump as big as her fist forming, but she wasn’t sure if it was just her imagination. She tried to decide if she was angry with Paul for what he did and decided she wasn’t. They were meant for each other. She’d do what it took to be with him.
Her thighs were burning from the crouching position. She was tired of the hot, sticky air. It felt as though she’d snorted sand. Several cars pulled in the back parking lot but none of the women who emerged from them resembled a skinny brunette with olive skin.
She thought about closing her eyes when a white Mazda whipped into the parking lot, its tires crunching on the gravel. The car thumped a rattling bass as its owner lingered inside. Sophia crept closer. The interior light glowed and the owner was all open-mouthed, eyebrows raised: that awkward putting-on-makeup face.
She was a brunette. Fake boobs spilled over the top of her tank top, but it would work. Good enough.
She walked even closer and popped one of the cigarettes in her mouth. She knocked on the window. The girl’s face was a little fuller, but it was still passable.
“Hi there. You got a light?” She used a slight southern accent to come across as friendly.
&n
bsp; The girl smiled and fished a lighter out of her purse. Sophia tried to take a quick inventory of the purse’s contents, but the car would be enough. And she still had cash.
Sophia lit the cigarette and had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from coughing. She dropped the lighter.
“Sorry,” she mumbled as she bent over and removed the razor from her boot.
She stood up and slashed fast, reached in, opened the door and popped the trunk open. The girl slumped in the direction of the open door, which was good. It minimized blood splatter all over the car. Sophia felt a flash of concern about the white exterior, but that could wait.
She grabbed the girl under the arms and dragged her to the rear of the car, the girl sputtering and gurgling along the way. A couple of dead lift pushes got her in the trunk.
According to her driver's license, her name was Denise Valentino and she was from Phoenix, Arizona. Denise had gas cards, a Visa and about $450 in cash, plus a small bump of meth. There was also a .25 pistol in the glove compartment with the serial number scratched off. Enough to get to New Orleans. She'd keep the meth for later, go to the car wash she'd seen on the way in and fill up using Denise’s gas card before leaving Las Vegas.
She’d get as far as she could, but she’d have to dispose of the car at some point and probably hitch the rest of the way. She figured it wouldn’t be long before someone noticed Denise hadn’t shown up for her shift at the Crazy Horse.
Sophia was exhausted. The only good news about this escape was that she’d be taking Highway 40 instead of I-10, so there was a bit more scenery to take in whenever morning rolled around. She figured she’d try to get to Albuquerque before stopping for some rest.
* * * *
Sophia passed a never-ending landscape of desert and cacti with the occasional deer or two. She'd heard of deer leaping out in front of cars and killing the driver. Suicidal, innocent looking things they were, those brown eyes soulful and vivacious.
She thought of her own eyes and how as a kid, a classmate said she'd had a cold, glass-like stare that was almost like a predator waiting to strike. Sophia singled out that particular girl and made her life hell from then on, stealing her homework and passing it off as her own, pulling her hair, pushing her down the stairs. She remembered how satisfying it was to humiliate and exert her power over this innocent little creature. And the girl deserved it. She was stupid, just like the deer. And she was asking for it when she said that about Sophia's eyes. Just like suicide.
She guessed it was true about people and their eyes. Eyes are windows to the soul, said the old cliché. She thought about Paul's equally steely gaze.
Denise had a cell phone in the purse on the passenger seat. Sophia pulled over to the side of the road to see if she'd get reception. She scrolled through the list of numbers and dialed the number to the Crazy Horse. She was just past the Nevada state line near Kingman, Arizona, and was about to hop on the I-40.
She mustered up the best Denise voice she could manage. The voice message said that the Crazy Horse was open from 8 p.m. to 3 a.m. Come on by and get the wildest ride of your life!
"This is Denise and I'm sorry, but I can't take any more shit from everyone and I need some away time. I'm headed back to Phoenix. Later!"
It sounded stupid. She frowned and wrenched the steering wheel, jerking the car back onto the highway and swerving into the opposing lane. She narrowly missed an oncoming car. She heard the fading honk from the driver but it barely registered. Sophia frequently drove like a maniac, but it was just like brushing her teeth or putting on clothes. She thought nothing of it. She supposed her wild driving started as a need to garner some reaction out of herself, but it never happened and crazy driving was normal. Her thoughts shifted to the Honda and she wondered when she'd have to buy a new car.
Anyway, the call would hopefully buy her some time. She could dump the Mazda off in the middle of Texas and figure it out from there.
She stopped in Kingman to find a pay phone. It took some searching, but she finally found one at a particularly run down looking gas station at the edge of town. She dropped in some change and was surprised to see it still working. She dialed information to get a number first and had the operator put her through. A male Latino voice answered.
"Hello, I have something I wanted to mention to you because it made me very nervous. I was staying at your hotel last night and I saw something, but I want to remain anonymous." She didn't wait for the man to interject. "I was out getting something to drink when I heard some strange noises in one of the rooms, and a man dressed in all black left and got in a black Toyota Solaris. I don't know what happened over there, but I thought someone should know." And with that, she hung up. They could figure out the rest themselves. And it might even keep Paul busy for a little while.
She walked to the edge of the building and smashed Denise's cell phone on the pavement. She scooped up the contents and disposed of it in a trash bin.
Thinking about Paul made her think about Argie and she wondered if he was well fed and cared for. She figured Ti would do a decent job. She ran through the contents of her apartment in her mind again. Other than a few books, she doubted Ti would be able to find anything or piece anything together. Still, the girl was in her apartment unattended. That could spell trouble.
She had to get to New Orleans as quickly as possible.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Paul: Breaking Glass
Paul waited. If there was any part of the process where he felt the most excited, where his heart beat the hardest, this was it: the waiting, the anticipation. The sun was almost down, which meant he'd have the blanket of night to protect him.
He was already starting to fall in love with the lithe body of the teenager, her sleek lines, the taught little muscles developed from cheerleading, the virginal shininess of her hair...the way hair looked when it wasn't fussed with much: sleek, full, lively. He imagined her skin would be as smooth as glass, her lips ripe and full like a sweet berry.
Soon, the moon was full and shining in the sky like a brand new quarter. Paul decided it was time to slink over to the house and see what was inside. He felt like the big bad wolf when he did this, and it always felt so good that he felt like howling, especially tonight. He had to grit his teeth hard to keep from laughing out loud. From his car to the sidewalk, he walked with a casual gait, but when he reached the house he wanted, he looked around with great care, then whipped into the shadows with only the faint swish of his clothing as a hint. He crept up to the first window, and seeing it was the dark living room, he moved on. Second window: parents' bedroom. The third window was what he wanted. This was clearly a teenager's bedroom: posters of singers Paul didn't recognize hung on the walls, trophies and books were scattered around the shelves, and the room looked...lived in. There was even a Kandinsky poster, its purples and pinks, strong lines and perfect symmetric circles clearly visible. She had good taste, even for a young little thing. He smiled. The cheerleader wasn't there, but the bedside lamp was on. Perhaps that meant she was coming back. Paul crouched and waited.
When she finally entered the room, her limbs long and graceful as they were, Paul gasped. She shut the door. And what do you know, she began undressing as if she knew he was there, slowly removing her shirt, unzipping her skirt, stepping out of her little white tennis shoes. She moved around the room in her bra and underwear, bless her heart, and Paul barely noticed his hand taking on a life of its own, wandering down to his crotch. She was getting ready to go out. He heard her mother calling and the girl shouted something, pulled on a pink cotton dress, slipped her white tennis shoes back on and bounded out the door.
Now he'd follow her again. He hoped she'd return to the house tonight. He saw her get into a car with another girl. They pulled out of the driveway. Paul sneaked back to his car, started it up and followed at a safe distance. They eventually ended up at a movie theater and bought tickets for some horror movie. Paul smirked. He bought a ticket too and made sure to sit dire
ctly behind them.
How he loved this part of the game so much. It made him feel like a king, having this much control. This girl had no idea she had a secret admirer from afar. She looked like such a good girl. Not tainted like so many of those other whores who knew nothing about art or music or the good things in life...they just wanted stuff.
He had to have her, but how could he talk to someone like that? His best method was to just let girls talk and talk to him, to let them open up and pour out their souls after the bad had been sitting in there for so long. It always made Paul think about emptying a vase filled with dead flowers and dingy water. Even after you dumped the shit out, there was still a lingering residue, a strange leftover filmy grime that was hard to get rid of. Sometimes you just had to smash the glass to get rid of everything. Paul always thought of that analogy when he strangled someone or stabbed them: breaking glass.
He had been daydreaming. The movie was over. He followed the girls out, focused like a laser pointer yet deeply aware of his surroundings. So easy. His pulse never rose over 80.
* * * *
Despite closing his eyes, the kaleidoscope of colors continued to twist and twirl like an insane amusement park ride. Paul bit his tongue and tasted blood. He felt like he couldn’t hold on to this ride. It was going too fast.
“Stop it,” Paul blubbered, then promptly threw up.
That made him feel better. He’d been drinking with the girls. He looked at both of them, and then down at his own nude body where he’d thrown up on himself. The girls were also nude but unmoving, the straw from the barn sticking to them where the blood was.
“Sluts,” he slurred. After the cheerleader, it wasn’t enough. He’d found two community college students. One was willing to help him jump off his battery, and one was willing to give him directions. They were both surprised to see the other one in the car. They both screamed. They didn’t know: he liked that sound. It made him feel like he reigned and he did. He was like God.