starting
to wonder if I’d really messed up my noggin with that trip over the handlebars. Closing my eyes turned out to be a bad idea,
though, because all I could see was the dead girl. She had those marks around her neck, and her palms and knees were bloody
just like the girl before her. I tried to picture her alive, and couldn’t.
What had he done to her? He’d strung that collar around her neck, and at some point she’d had to crawl around on her hands
and knees. Was she trying to getaway? Or did he force her to crawl around like a dog, just to humiliate her?
Like a dog
. Jesus. Could that be it?
No way. The thought was just too creepy. But frankly, nothing seemed too creepy to match what I’d found in the woods and what
the other guy had found on the mountain. If you’re going to abduct a girl and torture and kill her, does it really matter
why? Does anybody care about your inner dialogue? Does your personal history dictate whether you wring her neck or slit her
throat?
“Hey, you know, you got really big tits.”
I looked up to find two college guys, each just slightly smaller than the new Volkswagen Beetle. They were bleary-eyed and
standing close together, like they were holding each other up.
“Didn’t ya hear me?” said lout number one. “I said, ‘Man, you got really nice tits.’ We saw ya through the window here.” He
gestured with his beer mug and I felt a splash go down my neck.
“Yeah,” said his companion. “He said, like, ‘Look at that girl with that great rack,’ and I said, like, ‘Dude, it’s your
duty
to go in there and tell her how you feel.’ And he said, ‘Dude, you are
so
right.’ And… here we are.” He said it like he was Lindbergh describing his trip across the Atlantic. I didn’t know whether
to laugh at them or reach for my Mace. Oh, hell. If you live in a college town, sometimes you have to suffer for all the good
coffee and reasonably priced drugs.
“So whaddaya say?” said the first guy.
“Yeah,” said the other. “Whaddaya say?”
“Is there a question? Because if there is, I believe I may have missed it.”
They looked at each other. “Huh?” said lout number two. “My friend here just wanted to express himself, that’s all.”
Where do these guys come from? Failed government experiments?
“Yeah,” said his buddy. “I expressed myself.”
“I see.”
“ ’Cause we were sorta wondering,” said the first one, “if maybe you wanted to…”
“No. No thank you.”
“Ya sure?” said the second. “We got a whole case of Mad Dog back at the…”
“It’s a charming offer, really. But you boys have a lovely night.”
They looked at each other, seemed to come to some manly understanding, and turned to go. Just as they were walking down the
steps to the main part of the bar they encountered Mad, who’d finally reappeared. “Dude,” the second guy said to him. “That
girl is
deep
.”
“You have no idea,” Mad said, and the two undergrads toddled off toward the pinball machines.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“You might have rescued me.”
“And validate the dominant male paradigm? I’d never.”
“This bar is going to hell.”
“Right. All those horny nineteen-year-old girls with fake IDs. It’s a tragedy.”
“Why doesn’t somebody start picking these guys off for a change? They wouldn’t be missed. Who can even tell them apart?”
“You’re suggesting a serial killer who preys on dumb jocks?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Their parents might mind.”
“They might just as soon save the tuition.”
“Good point. Oh, hey. I forgot to tell you. O’Shaunessey won the pool. Junior packed it in today.”
“No kidding? Melissa’s gotta be pissed. Five more days and she was in the money. But I guess one night down in the morgue
was enough for him.”
“Yeah. Plus, he got a little push.”
I gave him the fish eye.
to wonder if I’d really messed up my noggin with that trip over the handlebars. Closing my eyes turned out to be a bad idea,
though, because all I could see was the dead girl. She had those marks around her neck, and her palms and knees were bloody
just like the girl before her. I tried to picture her alive, and couldn’t.
What had he done to her? He’d strung that collar around her neck, and at some point she’d had to crawl around on her hands
and knees. Was she trying to getaway? Or did he force her to crawl around like a dog, just to humiliate her?
Like a dog
. Jesus. Could that be it?
No way. The thought was just too creepy. But frankly, nothing seemed too creepy to match what I’d found in the woods and what
the other guy had found on the mountain. If you’re going to abduct a girl and torture and kill her, does it really matter
why? Does anybody care about your inner dialogue? Does your personal history dictate whether you wring her neck or slit her
throat?
“Hey, you know, you got really big tits.”
I looked up to find two college guys, each just slightly smaller than the new Volkswagen Beetle. They were bleary-eyed and
standing close together, like they were holding each other up.
“Didn’t ya hear me?” said lout number one. “I said, ‘Man, you got really nice tits.’ We saw ya through the window here.” He
gestured with his beer mug and I felt a splash go down my neck.
“Yeah,” said his companion. “He said, like, ‘Look at that girl with that great rack,’ and I said, like, ‘Dude, it’s your
duty
to go in there and tell her how you feel.’ And he said, ‘Dude, you are
so
right.’ And… here we are.” He said it like he was Lindbergh describing his trip across the Atlantic. I didn’t know whether
to laugh at them or reach for my Mace. Oh, hell. If you live in a college town, sometimes you have to suffer for all the good
coffee and reasonably priced drugs.
“So whaddaya say?” said the first guy.
“Yeah,” said the other. “Whaddaya say?”
“Is there a question? Because if there is, I believe I may have missed it.”
They looked at each other. “Huh?” said lout number two. “My friend here just wanted to express himself, that’s all.”
Where do these guys come from? Failed government experiments?
“Yeah,” said his buddy. “I expressed myself.”
“I see.”
“ ’Cause we were sorta wondering,” said the first one, “if maybe you wanted to…”
“No. No thank you.”
“Ya sure?” said the second. “We got a whole case of Mad Dog back at the…”
“It’s a charming offer, really. But you boys have a lovely night.”
They looked at each other, seemed to come to some manly understanding, and turned to go. Just as they were walking down the
steps to the main part of the bar they encountered Mad, who’d finally reappeared. “Dude,” the second guy said to him. “That
girl is
deep
.”
“You have no idea,” Mad said, and the two undergrads toddled off toward the pinball machines.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“You might have rescued me.”
“And validate the dominant male paradigm? I’d never.”
“This bar is going to hell.”
“Right. All those horny nineteen-year-old girls with fake IDs. It’s a tragedy.”
“Why doesn’t somebody start picking these guys off for a change? They wouldn’t be missed. Who can even tell them apart?”
“You’re suggesting a serial killer who preys on dumb jocks?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Their parents might mind.”
“They might just as soon save the tuition.”
“Good point. Oh, hey. I forgot to tell you. O’Shaunessey won the pool. Junior packed it in today.”
“No kidding? Melissa’s gotta be pissed. Five more days and she was in the money. But I guess one night down in the morgue
was enough for him.”
“Yeah. Plus, he got a little push.”
I gave him the fish eye.
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