Survivor: 1 (36 page)

"What makes you think it isn't? Women climax just the
same as men do."

"So you get off on it?*

"Yes"

'You get off on torturing and killing people?*

"I wouldn't do it if I didn't like it."

"And you really like eatin' people?"

"Yes. I do." Mabel Schneiders eyes gleamed. She licked
her wrinkled lips. "You really don't know what you're
missing."

They were in the desert now, cruising the last remaining suburbs of Las Vegas. "How long you been doing this
shit, then?"

"Over forty years!

'And you never been caught?' He realized it was a
dumb question the minute it slipped out of his mouth.

"Na" She grinned. "Things were the same then as they
are now. The people I was allowed to ... to wallow in ...
they're the same kind of people we use now. Nobody
wants them. They're throwaways. Homeless people, runaways, vagrants. Rejects of society. Nobody missed them
then, nobody misses them now'

Tim thought about it as he drove. It was hard to believe
that the hardcore scene had been around for so long, but
then he supposed that, in a way, it always had been. The
Romans used to have stadiums erected for the singular
purpose of torturing and killing people in front of an audience. Man may be more civilized in social aspects, but
he hadn't really changed in two thousand years. F ople
still lived for blood sports. Look at boxing. And they
called that a sport. Watch two men pound the crap out of
each other for the sole purpose of trying to knock the other unconscious. And audiences cheered for the winner. The more mayhem, the more blood, the better.

Tim nodded. "Do your kids know you do it?"

"No." Her knuckles were bone white as she gripped the
clasps of her purse.

"They never suspected?"

Mabel Schneider looked at him. "I never once let them
even think I was involved in the scene. It's ... it's my private thing. Do you understand? It's my private pleasure.
It's something nobody can take away from me."

Tim nodded. That was the excuse patrons to the hardcore scene always gave. They participated in this in the
privacy of their own homes. They didn't hurt anybody.
They just liked to watch other people be tortured, raped,
and murdered in the privacy of their own homes, where
they weren't hurting anybody. Yeah, right.

They were ten miles from the secondary road he
needed to take to get to the location. From there it was
another thirty miles. They would be there in about forty
minutes. "So back in the forties and fifties there was a
thriving S&M scene, right? And as far as underground
hardcore, there were no snuff films."

'There were no snuff films. At least as far as I know"

"You ever been in one?"

"A snuff film?"

"Yeah."

She nodded. "A few. The first one back in sixty-nine,
maybe 1970."

"You wear a mask?"

"Yes" Mabel pulled herself up a bit. "I was playing the
role of the madam dominatrix. I was in my late fifties
then, and I still had my looks. I had quite a body back
then. You would have wanted to fuck me."

"I'm sure I would've," Tim said, prodding her to go on.
"So what happened?"

"1 played the role of a madam dominatrix. The film was
commissioned by a rich businessman. A homosexual
sadist. He wanted to watch a young man get raped and
tortured by a woman. Strange, don't you think? Usually
queers like to watch men get done by other men. Not this
guy. He wanted a woman. An older woman. He had a
thing for older women, even though he was queer. It was
probably a mommy complex. What do they call that?'

'Oedipus complex."
"

"Right. This guy, this client, obviously had one. The
slave we used was some kid from New York. A hustler.
He'd been kicked out of his home a few years before
when his father, who was a minister, found out he was
queer. He was into light S&M ... nothing too daring. He
started appearing in B&D loops that Rick Shectman's father produced as a bottom."

.So Rick's dad was into all this then? That's how Rick
knows you?"

Mabel Schneider nodded. "Yes. I've done a lot of work
for Boris Shectman"

'What kind of work?"

"The usual. Hardcore S&M stuff. Fetish stuff.'

"He used you even when you were, you know..."

"So old?'

'Yeah"

Mabel chuckled. "What are you, naive, boy? Don't you
know there's a big market for films showing us old folks
fucking? It's huger

Tim nodded. That much was true. Rick Shectman had
produced a few commissions for clients that catered to
this fetish. "So you been working steadily for Boris, and
now you do stuff for Rick. When was the last time you did
a snuff filmr

The last one I did was in seventy-eight or nine.'

'What was that ofY

"A boy. A runaway. Maybe thirteen, fourteen years old."

"You ever do girls? Women?"

"Oh yes"

"And you still like to eat people?"

"Oh yes." Mabel grinned at him. "I haven't lost that
passion"

"And you haven't been caught because nobody will
believe that an old fuck like you can be a sick fuck, too."

"Look who's talking, doughboy."

They were approaching the secondary road. Tim
checked his rearview mirrors, made a right, and they
trundled down the road. Now it was time to start watching traffic around them. He couldn't afford to be spotted
by cops now. "Doughboy. That's a good one. Nobody's
ever called me that before."

"Would you prefer fat ass?"

"Fuck off, granny."

Mabel laughed. "I like you, doughboy. You're just as
fucked up as I am, even though you don't want to admit
it. You're going to get a good thrill out of watching her
die, too."

Tim grinned and nodded. Maybe Mabel Schneider was
right. He knew she was correct in that last statement: He
was going to have a good time watching Lisa Miller die.

It took all of Brad Miller's willpower to not bolt for the
door and undertake the search for Lisa by himself. He
was sitting in a chair in the office of Head of Security at
the Luxor, being grilled by two FBI agents. The cops and
feds were crawling all over the place. Security was tight,
and the last Brad had heard they were conducting a
room-to-room search of the entire hotel and casino.

He didn't want to admit to himself that they were too
late. It had taken a few minutes for hotel security to free him. and forty minutes had passed since then. The feds
had just arrived, but he had to beg to get them to even
show up. Once Luxor security informed the feds on what
was happening, the mood changed. Now everybody was
racing around the Luxor like they had fire up their asses.
The clock was ticking.

"Haw old do you think the woman was?' one of the
agents asked. Both agents looked to be around Brad's
age. One was white, the other was black.

She looked over seventy. Close to eighty. I've told you
this five times already!'

"I'm sorry," the agent said. He looked flustered. "we
just ... I've just never heard of..."

You've never heard of an old lady psychopath slashing
people like she was Jack the Ripper. Is that what you want
to say? Brad dosed his eyes, trying to stave off the
headache that wanted to creep up into his brainpan. "I
swear to. Christ, the woman was fucking old. She looked
like an old fucking grandmother, for God's sake! Now-'

One of the security team held out a telephone receiver
to Brad. 'Excuse me, sir? Guy on the other end says he's
Mr. Miller's attorney. A Mr. Grecko?'

Brad leaped for the phone; he hadn't even heard it
ring. "I'll take it!'

"Brad?" It was Billy, all right. He sounded on the verge
of losing it.

Billy, they've got her!" Brad yelled. He had called Billy
twenty minutes ago and left a message, sobbing frantically into his voice mail that they had gotten Lisa again,
that they had slipped past security using an old woman
as their assassin. Then he'd called his parents. His
mother had been shocked; she'd started to cry. His dad
had gotten on the line and didn't say much. He was
probably shocked, too. His dad usually clammed up when he got too emotional. Brad was the exact opposite.
"They've got her, Billy, they slipped right past the fucking
security and-"

"Paul told me everything," William said. His voice was
even, controlled, yet with the faintest hint of strain beneath it. "We're doing everything we can, buddy."

"How the luck did this happen?" Brad shouted. He
could feel that he was on the verge of crying again and
he tried to hold it in.

"I've just talked to Paul, and I told him that I just found
out that there's a commercial printer in the City of Industry, a guy by the name of Rick Shectman, who might be a
possible suspect. They're sending a team of agents to
question him right now."

"Tey've got somebody? Is this a-"

"It's a credible lead," Billy said, overriding him. "Listen,
Brad, my source says that the feds have been investigating
this guy for years, but they've been unable to come up with
much of anything. He runs a commercial print shop in Industry that is believed to also produce child pornography.
My source also told me that there's speculation he's tied
into the production of other forms of illegal pornography.
No hard proof, though, just speculation. But get this: His father, Boris Shectman, was convicted in 1979 of producing
child pornography and bestiality publications and served
six months. Boris also ran a lucrative porn business, providing loops to porn shops across the country. He also ran
coin-operated booths, prostitution rings, the whole nine
yards. My contacts are still trying to dig his name up in connection with their snuff-film investigation in the seventies,
but he's confident Boris was partially responsible for at
least one snuff film that was made in seventy-eight or seventy-nine. That's what my contact tells me. His source
claims that Boris was deep into the whole hardcore industry, and that-"

"They're going to get this guy? Is that what you're telling
me?" Brad was excited; he wanted to get out of here now
and help!

"They're after him now." He could tell Billy was trying
to sound hopeful. "I don't want to ... you know ... get
your hopes up, but-"

"I just want her found," Brad said, trying to control the
stammer in his voice. "1 just want her found."

"I'm doing everything I can, buddy. We'll find her. Now,
can you pass me back off to the agents you're with?"

Brad handed the phone to the black agent, who took
the phone. "Yeah? Paul Off from the field office? Okay.
Thanks" The agent gave the phone back to the Luxor security man, who hung up.

Brad leaned forward, cradling his head between his
hands. He still felt weak from the Taser. Weak and sick.
"Mr. Miller?"

Brad looked up. The African-American agent was looking at him with soft, brown eyes. "Mr. Miller. I have something I want you to look at.*

"What?"

Another security agent had stepped into the room while
Brad had been talking to Billy. He was holding a videotape. He inserted the tape into a VCR and as he got the
tape ready, the head of security at the Luxor addressed
him. "We questioned some of the guests and gave them
your description of the woman who attacked you. We were
able to verify that a woman fitting that description was
seen with a man in the lobby, and that the man was pushing a luggage cart with a large box on it. Naturally, it was
assumed they were guests. When I got the description of
the woman from you, I ran it through security and we
checked the tapes and came up with footage of the suspects leaving the hotel. We also checked the parking lot security tapes and were able to identify their vehicle. We got a blowup of the plate and alerted the state police and the
DMV. They're on it now we also gave them a description of
the man seen with the woman. I'd like you to view the tape
and tell me if you recognize him' He turned to the TV and
VCR, pressed the Play button, and stepped aside.

Brad moved toward the TV, watching the black-andwhite images of hotel patrons in the lobby hurrying to and
fro. He recognized the old woman the minute she stepped
into frame. 'That's her!" he said, feeling his skin crawl.

The security agent slowed the speed of the tape down.
"Take a good look at this guy," he said.

Brad watched the tape, his heart racing. When the man
stepped into frame pushing a luggage cart, Brad didn't
recognize him at first. The gold rungs of the luggage cart
partially obscured the man's upper body, but as the tape
progressed frame by frame, the man's figure moved into
a more prominent view in the film. Brad felt his breath
draw in as the man's face loomed closer. He wasn't wearing sunglasses and he was clean-shaven, his hair cut
shorter, but there was no mistaking it. The man in the
film pushing the luggage cart was the man who had had
him arrested outside Ventura over two weeks ago. "That's
him!" he cried, pointing at the TV. "Ibat's the guy who
called himself Caleb Smith. That's the guy who had me
arrested and kidnapped Lisa!"

Animal was waiting for them at the precise spot Tim Murray had told him to be.

He was also dressed and ready for action.

Tim had piloted the SUV off the secondary road over the bumpy terrain to the hilly area at the foot of the indine. He parked behind a large outcropping of rocks. A
four-door Saturn with a rental-car decal affixed to the
rear window was already parked there and Animal was
waiting, leather bondage mask over his head, his upper
torso bare. Mabel took one look at him and grinned. "I've
seen two films you were in. I love your work."

Animal didn't say anything. His eyes were wide with
surprise at the sight of the old lady. He looked at Tim.

"Relax," Tim said, as he opened the door to the SUV
"Rick hired her to take care of getting rid of their security.
You ain't gonna believe the shit I seen this lady do."