Bill Hopkins - Judge Rosswell Carew 01 - Courting Murder (4 page)

On the sunny, appointed day, the killer drove Eddie Joe Deckard into the country.

When they reached the chosen spot, the killer said to Eddie Joe, “Let’s go for a walk.” The killer hiked away from the victim.

“Where are we going?” Eddie Joe said. “I’ve got a lot to take care of. I don’t have much time.”

“That’s for sure,” the killer said in a soft voice. With assurance, the killer said to Eddie Joe, “This won’t take long,” then led him around the bend to the spot where death would come to buy another soul. It was the nice place. A stream, trees, wildflowers, and a picnic table under a roof.

A scenic lane, beneath the crest of a forested ridge and far from where anyone could see or hear them, fit the plan. Safe ground.

The killer said to Eddie Joe, “I’ve got something to show you.” Then smiled.

“Show me? I thought you said you wanted to talk.”

“Show you, talk to you, whatever. Don’t be so literal.”

Eddie Joe said, “Don’t be so mysterious.”

The killer pointed. “Sit there.”

“There?” Eddie Joe asked, also pointing. “What’s that Caddy doing in the middle of nowhere?”

“Please take the driver’s seat. I’ll explain.”

Eddie Joe sat, stroked, and praised. “Nice. Super nice. You’ve done good and I always believed you could do it.” He sat. The stroking and praising stopped. “This is yours, isn’t it?”

“It’s not mine. It belongs to a friend.”

“A friend? Then what do I want to see it for? Is this what we drove all the way out here to see? This car’s not even yours and we came all the way out here to see this—”

“No, this isn’t what we came for. We didn’t come for me to talk or to show, we came for me to do.”

On cue, Babe walked from behind a clump of cedar trees.

“Hey,” Babe greeted Eddie Joe. “Good to see you again.”

“Hey,” Eddie Joe said. He frowned, but started to leave the car. “Nice to see you again, too.”

Babe, ignoring Eddie Joe’s outstretched hand, pushed him in the chest, forcing him into a sitting position behind the steering wheel once more. She was a strong woman who worked out every day, and
he wasn’t a big man. Good thing.

“Don’t bother, my friend,” said Babe, “because you’ll never stand for anything again.”

“What’s going on here?” Eddie Joe studied the killer, who didn’t explain Babe’s words and deeds. Eddie Joe repeated his question to the killer. “What’s going on here?”

“You probably have a good idea now, don’t you? Can’t you guess what’s about to happen?”

“The hell I can.” This time directed to Babe, Eddie Joe said, “What’s going on here?”

“Since you’re so dense, I’ll tell you what’s going on here.” Babe shoved Eddie Joe again. “You’re dead.”

“Dead? Dead!” Eddie Joe shrieked. “What do you mean dead?”

“It’s a simple concept,” Babe said. “A simple word. Dead, as in not alive. You dragged me outside in the dark and made me wish I was dead. You used my body like you owned it.”

“You liked it,” Eddie Joe said. Babe kicked him in the balls.

The killer said to Eddie Joe, “I’ve taken all the filthy trash off you I’m ever going to take. You’ve betrayed me for the last time. Played around on me.”

“Trash?” Eddie Joe said, gasping with pain. “Filthy trash? What the hell does that mean? And how in the hell did I betray you, for Christ’s sake? What are you talking about?”

“You had your fun with me when I was too little to resist. You did the same thing to Babe. You’re scum and you’ve betrayed me for the last time, you son of a bitch. You like to play around.”

“Betray?” Babe said to the killer. “Played around?” Puzzlement at the killer’s unexpected words danced plainly on Babe’s face. She said to the killer, “I thought it was only you and me. How could this scum betray you?” She snapped her fingers. “You played around with Eddie. You’re a liar. You’re a cheat!”

The killer said, “I’ve had lots of sex with lots of people. I like sex.”

Surprise spluttered to the surface of Eddie Joe’s fear and confusion. “You,” he said to the killer, “and … this?” He pointed to Babe. “What shit.” Eddie Joe’s fear sweat stank.

Babe turned her anger from the killer and said to Eddie Joe, “You liked me a lot when I couldn’t resist.”

“Shut your pie holes,” the killer said to both of them, then to Eddie Joe, “When you have as many secrets as you do, you can’t keep track of all of them. And you have one hell of a lot of secrets.”

Eddie Joe said, “You’re not making sense.” A yellow jacket buzzed around his face, attracted by his perspiration.

The killer said, “You never did know what I was talking about, did you?”

Eddie Joe said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about now.”

“Neither do I,” said Babe.

The killer ignored Babe. “That doesn’t matter anymore,” speaking to Eddie Joe. “You’re dead now and welcome to it.”

Excitement roiled inside the killer. There’s a taste of anticipation that comes before sex and killing. Savoring the taste, the killer stroked Eddie Joe’s stubbly cheeks. Eddie Joe had forgotten to shave.

“That does it. I’m leaving,” Eddie Joe said and stood on the ground. Babe kicked her shoes off and tagged Eddie Joe with her Taser. Then she pinned him in a full nelson. Babe may’ve been stringy, but she was tough for a woman. And a stun gun softens up everybody.

Eddie Joe tore at Babe, managing only to seize air with his hands now formed into claws.

“Where is it?” the killer said.

“It’s on the floor,” said Babe. “Get it.”

The killer snagged the knife off the car’s floor and held it up where all three of them could see it.

“Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!” Eddie Joe said when the thing appeared. Then silence. Maybe a real silent prayer.

“That’s right,” the killer said. “You’d better pray. This is your last chance. But I don’t think it’ll do you any good.” The killer spit on Eddie Joe. “Jesus doesn’t recognize you and the Devil hears no prayers, only
resignations. You’re going to hell.”

Not loosening her hold on Eddie Joe, Babe said, “Give it to me.”

The killer clutched the knife with the ferocity of a miser’s hand in rigor mortis grasping an earthly treasure.

“No,” the killer said, drawing the knife back. “It was my idea, I’ll do it.” Showing teeth and curling lips upward, the killer mimicked a smile. “You,” the killer said to Babe, “hold this filthy trash and I’ll do it.”

Eddie Joe said, “Stop! Don’t do this. I don’t deserve killing. My God, what did I do wrong?”

“Don’t listen,” Babe said.

“You,” the killer said to Eddie Joe, “are filthy and I’m through taking filthy trash off you.”

“What … what?” Eddie Joe said. The killer said, “Don’t act like you don’t know what you did.”

“Stop lecturing. Do it,” said Babe. “I can’t pin this sucker forever. Do it.”

Eddie Joe said, “Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!”

The killer said, “Forever.”

Eddie Joe said, “My God. Please don’t. Please don’t. Please don’t.” Not very memorable for famous last words, but it was all he could manage.

Babe said, “Do it. Do it. Do it.”

The killer said, “With pleasure,” and, leering, sliced Eddie Joe’s throat.

Babe unpinned Eddie Joe.

His fluttering hands clutched his nonworking throat after trying speech and finding it impossible. Damn near popping from sockets and spurting tears, his eyes bugged out cartoon-style. Eddie Joe’s forehead beaded sweat, which collected and ran in streams down his face, which grew whiter. The streams of sweat ran further down his neck, which grew redder. The sweat did little to
pinken the red goo.

Coppery and bright, the aroma of blood cascaded around the three
of them. The killer sucked in the smell with deep breaths. Eddie Joe bubbled and sputtered, unable to catch a single good breath.

The dying man scratched at his scudding heart, gripping under an aching rib cage. He fought to hold the wildly pounding muscle in his burning chest.

As death shambled toward him, Eddie Joe bared his teeth as if growling at the stranger, the old man hulking down the road, the final visitor, coming, coming, coming. If not with speed, then surely with certainty. The final visitor for the final appointment for this flopping thing growing greasy with blood.

Eddie Joe’s breathing sounded gritty, as if death had poured a bucket of finely ground sand into his flaming lungs. He thrashed, escalating into convulsions. At one point, he fell on a small log, hugged it, and jerked his arms and stomped his feet. A fat and purple thing that was his tongue jutted from between his white teeth stained with red. He pulled at that fat thing, ripped at his mouth wet with blood and spittle, and then tore at a throat that had given up.

There was no air.

There was no life to be had. As the killer had planned, the condemned man tumbled into the Great Void, tripped by the old bastard Death who never ever loses. Never.

The killer spoke the words breaking the hush after the execution. “Our friend here got some of his precious blood on the Caddy. Messy, isn’t it?”

“What the hell did you expect? Murder is messy.”

“I told you not to call it that.”

“It’s that excitement thing,” Babe said. “Sorry. I forgot.”

“Shit for brains is what’s sloshing inside your skull. Don’t forget again.” The killer then ogled the body. “Messy, but worth it. Executions are bloody messy, aren’t they?” The killer clapped. And laughed. And it felt good.

“Right,” Babe said through the not-funny laughter. “An execution can sure be messy.”

The killer cut off the laugh attack to direct Babe, “Clean it up.”

“Wait one minute,” Babe said, holding both palms facing out and up. “What was that talk about betrayal? About playing around? What did that mean?”

“Crazy talk. People talk crazy when they’re about to be executed.”

“You were making it with Eddie Joe after you told me you were through with him.”

The killer spit on Babe. “You want me?”

Babe trembled. “I need you.”

“Then stop with the accusations. We’re in it up to our breathers. We can’t afford your asshole allegations about me and someone who no longer walks the land of the living now, don’t you agree?”

Babe agreed. “What about this?” Babe held up the knife. Filthy stinking stuff from Eddie Joe’s throat dripped from the point of the knife onto a patch of clover. Buzzing insects circled the knife, sensing food.

“Pitch it.”

Babe didn’t pitch it. She handed it to the killer and said, “Don’t be careless with evidence.”

“I’m going to change clothes and go back to work. If we don’t stay in our daily routine, someone could notice. Someone might notice my bloody clothes even if I did stick to my routine.”

“Everybody thinks I’m gone.”

“Don’t screw up.”

Babe said, “You’ve got fancy moves, but you’ve got cheese for brains.”

“Must’ve got them from you. Whore.”

Babe said, “I hate you. You were still doing favors for Eddie Joe. You liked it, didn’t you? You lied to me when you said you were through with him.”

The killer didn’t speak.

Babe stood, yet made no other movement. After a moment she launched herself, knocking the killer to the ground. The killer fell
back- wards, a rock slamming into backbone. The pain in the spine caused a momentary blackout. Babe punched the killer in the gut. That brought the killer around, although breathing was impossible for a few seconds. A damned girl punch. A man would’ve beaten the killer’s face until all sensation was gone. Babe had found her Taser, which headed for the killer’s face. The killer shoved a hand into her face and pushed her away. When she fell, her Taser disappeared into the brush. She jumped up and kicked the killer’s butt, landing a couple of blows on each cheek. The killer rolled away. Babe staggered backward when a kick she’d aimed missed. There was no way the killer could get up. Rolling toward her feet, knocking her to the ground, the killer screamed. Babe lay panting in the dirt with the killer straddling her.

Babe said, “Won’t be long before you join Eddie Joe and me in hell. We’ll be waiting.”

The knife was within reach. The killer grabbed it and stabbed her in the heart.

“To quote me, ‘After the first execution, the second one gets easier’.”

No more Eddie Joe. No more Babe. The killer would learn to get along without them. Shit happens. People bleed. People die.

The killer arranged their bodies. No one would ever notice the ingenious pattern used. Some Fast Orange would clean the killer’s hands. “You always need clean hands for any kind of work.”

The killer cradled the knife. The second part of the plan, the part Babe knew nothing about, the part that just sprang into the killer’s mind, needed a knife. The killer let out a howl of victory and a laugh of triumph.

Something crashed in the woods behind the scene. Whatever it was snapped dead branches that had fallen to the ground. The killer thought a deer must’ve been scared.