The Killing Kind (6 page)

March 22

The girls were sitting at a picnic table at a rest area, talking while they watched the guys toss a football around. Zoe and Emily sat next to each other on the edge of the table, their feet planted on the bench beneath them, while Annalisa sat on the bench on the opposite side and jabbered into her cell phone.

Chuck cocked his arm and flung it forward, sending the football in a high, wobbly semispiral in Joe’s general direction. Joe took off down the gently sloping hill, head up as he tracked the ball’s progress across the bright blue sky. He held his hand up against the glare of the sun and it was obvious to Zoe that he’d lost track of the thing.

Emily sighed. “Shit. Joe fall down, go boom.”

Joe twisted his body and scanned the sky again, but the ball was already coming to the ground some twenty yards ahead of him. He saw it an instant before he got his feet tangled and crashed to the ground with a startled yelp.

Emily shook her head. “Stupid boy. Asshole. That’s what he gets for getting so sloshed this early in the day.”

Zoe laughed. “Your guy takes a fall and you call him an asshole. It must be true love.”

Emily snorted. “I do sort of love him. I guess. But he
is
an asshole, especially when he drinks so much.”

Zoe sipped from a fresh can of Coke. “Yeah. But he seems like a good guy, deep down. At least when he’s sober.”

“Too bad I can’t say the same for Chuck.”

Zoe tensed, her fingers dimpling the moisture-slick can as she squeezed it harder. “Emily…”

Emily nudged her with an elbow. “Fucking relax. They can’t hear us. Admit the truth to your best friend. You’re about to break up with the prick, aren’t you?”

Zoe’s grip on the can eased some. She sighed. “Yeah.” Then she tensed again as a wave of anxiety surged through her. “But don’t tell Joe! God, he’d blab it to Chuck right away.”

“Right. If I tell him not to do something, he’ll damn well not do it.” She smiled, watching as Joe awkwardly picked himself up and dusted off before limping away to retrieve the fallen ball. “But yeah, I’ll keep my mouth shut. Although…” She looked at Zoe now, mouth curling in a strange expression that was almost a leer. “It could open the door to some interesting possibilities.”

“What do you mean?”

Emily leaned close to Zoe and whispered in her ear. “Joe’s always hinting around about how he’d like a threesome with me and another girl.” She laughed. “Typical guy. But I’m thinking maybe it’d be fun if you were the other girl.”

Zoe’s face reddened. “Um…I, uh…”

Emily’s breath was warm against her ear as she laughed softly again. “Just think about it. No pressure.” She patted Zoe’s knee. “If nothing else, you and I could get together at some point over the week.”

Zoe’s blush deepened as she stared at Emily’s hand, which hadn’t moved from her knee. This was pretty weird. She and Emily made out now and then. But it was usually when they were high, and Zoe just thought of it as harmless playing around. Still, given that history, this blatant proposition shouldn’t come as such a shock.

Yet it did.

She made herself swallow and said, “Yeah…I’ll…think about it.”

Emily patted her knee again. “You do that. It’d be fucking fun as hell.” She climbed off the table and stretched. Then she put on her dark sunglasses and smiled at Zoe. “You’re gonna be so much better off without that piece of shit in your life.”

Zoe started to say something, but Emily turned away from her and started back up the hill toward the van.

Annalisa snapped her phone shut and made a shrill sound of frustration. “Motherfucker! Can you believe that fucking motherfucker!”

Zoe turned to face Annalisa. “I can’t believe it. The nerve of that fucker. Um…what are you talking about?”

Annalisa rolled her eyes. “Sean’s fucking mother.”

“Sean’s mother is a motherfucker?”

“Yeah!”

“Okay.”

Annalisa shook her head. “Nothing’s ever good enough for that cunt, I swear. I mean, I’m hot, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“And smart, right?”

“Your GPA is four-point-oh. You’re the smartest foul-mouthed bitch on the planet.”

Annalisa nodded. “No shit, right? So what mother in her right fucking mind wouldn’t want her son dating a girl who looks like me and has a brilliant fucking future ahead of her?”

Zoe squinted at her. “She’s…I don’t know…
jealous
?”

“Of course she is!” She unleashed a shrill screech of frustration and exhaled heavily. “Okay, change of fucking subject. I saw Emily whispering in your ear. What was that about?”

“Um…it was sort of…private.”

Annalisa lifted an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Too private to tell your best friend?”

“Um…”

Annalisa reached into her purse for a pack of Marlboros and lit one up. “Oh, that’s right. I’m only your second-best friend. Emily is your
actual
best friend. The one you tell the really important shit. I see how it is.”

Zoe frowned. She hated the idea of Annalisa seeing things that way. But what really sharpened the sting was recognizing that she’d only spoken the truth. “We were talking about me and Chuck.”

“Yeah?”

Zoe nodded. “I’m breaking up with him after this trip is over.”

“Good.”

Zoe laughed. “Good?”

“Yeah. Chuck sucks. Fuck him.”

“Christ, does
everybody
hate my boyfriend?”

“Everybody with half a brain. Personally, I’d like to throw him off a fucking cliff.”

Zoe laughed again. “I don’t want to kill him. I just want him out of my life.”

“Well, it’s the smartest move you’ve made in a long time. But I think you’re lying to me. Or half-lying. That’s not all you and Emily were talking about. Was it?”

“Christ, you are so suspicious.” Zoe climbed off the table. “I’m gonna hit the bathroom again. And I’m not fucking lying to you.”

She turned and started toward the rest area’s main building.

Annalisa called after her in a singsong voice. “Liar, liar, pants on fire…”

Zoe quickened her pace as her face turned red again.

Diary of a Mixed-up Girl blog entry, dated March 10

There’s this one guy. Talked about his lame ass before. Asshole makes me want to vomit every time I think of him. Swear to fucking God, he needs a lobotomy so bad. I’d love to stick a needle in that frontal lobe of his and give it a good twirl. This guy, though, most people would never know he’d been lobotomized because he’s kind of a drooling vegetable already.

Fucking MORON.

I think about killing him sometimes Seriously. I think about getting him somewhere nice and private. Someplace where he could scream and scream and nobody would ever hear him. Then I’d get him drunk enough to pass the fuck out. He’s a lightweight, so that’d be pretty damn easy. Next I’d restrain him. Tie him to a bed or something. Then the
real
fun would start. I actually think about this a fuck of a lot because this dude seriously needs to fucking die, and there’s this one funny image I keep thinking of that I’m desperate to make real. This guy tied to a bed. Body spread-eagled. His dick cut off. Not the balls. Just the dick. Every time I think of that, just those useless balls sitting there without a dick attached, I crack the fuck up. I’m cracking the fuck up RIGHT NOW. HAHAHAHA.

Seriously, he’s a douche bag and I want to make him dead.

But I sort of want to fuck him first.

LOL. If I were a guy, it wouldn’t matter what order I did it in. I could kill him and then fuck his corpse with my big, throbbing dick.

OH SHIT! Look at the time! Homework!

3 comments

lord_ruthven: The only way I know you’re not talking about me is the constant references to this guy’s stupidity. But you are one twisted bitch.

Mixedupgirl: Aw…that’s sweet. But I do want to kill you. I want to stick red-hot needles in your eyes and watch them liquefy. I want to cut off your head and FedEx it to your parents. LOL. I totally don’t get why anybody would call me “twisted.” Oh, and thanks for the flowers. Kisses.

darkest_rogue: I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you. You are awesome. But you probably know that already.

March 22

Rob kept glancing at the Galaxie’s slightly askew rearview mirror with the expectation of seeing a column of police cruisers with blue lights flashing bearing down on them. They were some forty miles down the road from the scene of the roadside massacre by now, and he couldn’t understand how it was they’d driven away from something as spectacularly horrible as that with, thus far, no repercussions or complications and no hint of pursuit by law enforcement.

Okay, that bit about no repercussions was sort of bullshit. His psyche had been dealt a serious blow. If through some miracle he managed to survive this ordeal and was able to resume his normal life, he was certain he would have to deal with some level of posttraumatic stress the rest of his days. He foresaw years and years of costly therapy just to be able to function.

“Pull off at the next exit.”

Roxie pointed at a blue road sign coming up on their right. It was the kind with icons indicating local motels, restaurants, and gas stations. A green road sign a little farther down the road indicated the exit was one mile away.

Rob frowned as he glanced at the Galaxie’s gas gauge, which showed its tank as still more than three-quarters full. “Um…why?”

She stared at him in silence for a moment, her eyes unreadable
behind dark sunglasses. “Because I said so, that’s why.”

Rob nodded. “Right.”

It had been stupid to even ask. He’d already learned the uselessness of arguing with her. She was unpredictable. Unstable. These were understatements of epic proportion. She was dangerously deranged. He had to be careful. A person like Roxie, anything could set her off. A wrong word. A wrong look. Or something he had no control over, some quirk of her fucked-up brain chemistry causing her to lash out for no reason. Rob realized there was no way he—or anyone, for that matter—could successfully navigate this crazy chick’s moods for long.

The exit came up fast. He put the Galaxie’s blinker on and applied steady pressure to the brake pedal as they neared the ramp.

“I’m sort of horny.”

The out-of-nowhere comment startled Rob. He didn’t know what to say, but knew she’d expect some sort of response. “Um…yeah?”

“Ever fuck a murderer?”

“Well…no.”

She laughed. “Ever fuck anybody at all?”

“I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Good. Turn left.”

They’d reached the end of the exit ramp, which intersected with a stretch of faded two-lane blacktop. To the right, maybe a quarter mile distant, lay an array of fast-food joints, gas stations, and a motel. To the left was a stretch of open road curling into a thickening expanse of wilderness. The only business establishment in that direction was a Shell station. It looked kind of grubby compared to the gleaming, gigantic convenience stores to the right, with their dozens of pumps and huge, brightly lit signs. The station to the left had just two double-sided pumps, and the towering old Shell
sign in a corner of its nearly vacant parking lot looked like it had been there maybe half a century—and probably had been.

Rob cranked the wheel to the left and started in that direction.

“Pull in at the gas station.”

Rob turned in at the Shell’s lot, angling the Galaxie toward one of the pumps.

Roxie slugged his shoulder. “Not here. Side of the building, toward the rear.”

Rob steered the car away from the pumps and parked where Roxie indicated, in the last slot on the side toward the rear of the building. A metal door marked men stood opposite the front of the car. Roxie took the keys from the ignition and the Galaxie’s engine ground to a rumbling halt. She dropped the keys in her tote bag, pulled the bag up on her lap, and began searching through its contents. She’d slid her sunglasses up over her forehead and her face had a pinched look of concentration. She made little noises of frustration. Whatever she was looking for, she was having a hard time finding it.

The sound of an approaching engine drew Rob’s attention back the way they’d come. An old lime green Fiat turned into the Shell’s parking lot and pulled up alongside the pump closest to the front of the store. An overweight guy of about forty heaved himself out of the car, took out his wallet, and inserted a debit or credit card in the pump’s card slot. He punched in some numbers. His PIN, probably. So, a debit card. He stood there watching the digital display until the sale was approved. He then removed the pump handle from its cradle and inserted the nozzle in the Fiat’s gas tank. He held the pump handle as he watched the digital numbers tick by.

“Not worth robbing.”

Rob looked at Roxie, face drawing down into a frown.
“Do we really need to rob anybody? I mean…I’ve got money. A couple hundred in my wallet. A few thousand more in my bank account. You don’t even have to shoot anybody to get it.”

“Oh, I’ll be taking all that. Count on it. I’m just saying, this fucking schmuck wouldn’t be worth the bother anyway.”

Despite himself, Rob was curious. “Yeah? Why?”

Roxie nodded in his direction. “Look at him. The way he’s holding the pump handle and watching the numbers. This is a guy with overdraft concerns. A sad sack of shit just scraping by on a daily basis. Only reason I’d shoot that poor bastard would be to put him out of his misery.”

Rob looked at the guy again, noting saggy, grime-encrusted jeans and a faded, raggedy T-shirt that looked like something retrieved from the reject bin at a Goodwill outlet. His face was unshaven and doughy. There was a wide, shiny bald circle at the crown of his skull, but the hair he did have was long and scraggly.

“Huh.”

She was right. He wouldn’t be worth robbing. He tucked this fact away in his mental file of Information I’ll Fucking Never Need. Still, it was sort of interesting. She had a sharp eye for things an experienced criminal would know at a glance. Which made sense, what with her being exactly that.

“Aha!”

The exclamation drew his attention away from Mr. Downward Spiral. His brow knitted as he studied the slim, silver object pinched between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yes.”

She unlocked the cuff attached to the steering wheel.

“You’re letting me go?”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Right. That was stupid. What
is
happening?”

She nodded at the bathroom door. “We’re going in there.” She hoisted the tote bag. “I have to change into regular girl clothes. I can’t very well go around dressed like this when I’m off on a spree, now can I?”

Rob shrugged. “I don’t have a lot of experience in that area. I am not a ‘spree’ person. But that sounds…smart?”

“You don’t sound sure.”

Another shrug. “Like I said…”

“Yeah, yeah, lack of experience, et cetera. Look. Here’s what’s happening. Obviously I can’t leave you out here while I’m changing. You’re gonna get out. Do it nice and easy. Calmly. Like any regular dude getting out of his car to take a piss. Keep the open cuff tucked in your palm and don’t look at the fat fuck at the pump. Walk straight to the bathroom with me. Got it?”

She was pointing the gun at him again.

Yeah, he got it.

He nodded.

“Good. Let’s go.”

She got out and stood at the side of the car, waiting for him, the gun tucked away in the tote bag, which she held in front of her. Rob got out and carefully kept his head turned away from the gas pumps as he followed her toward the bathroom. And though he was aware of how obscenely inappropriate it was in light of the monstrous thing she’d done not even an hour earlier, the prurient part of him couldn’t help noting that she looked just as good from behind. The backs of her thighs and calves were shapely and toned, and her high-rise ass looked amazing framed by that little black skirt. Her walk was the effortless, seductive strut of a born sex kitten. The swivel of her hips made him think about things he had no business thinking of in light of the horrible thing she had done. When they reached the bathroom door, she glanced at him, a corner of her mouth quirking in a way that made it clear she knew exactly where his attention had been
and exactly what he had been thinking. That smug surety made him at once angry and ashamed. This was an awful woman. A heartless killer. The knowledge of that alone should kill any flicker of lust looking at her might inspire.

But it didn’t. Not quite.

And knowing that deepened the shame.

She opened the door and pushed him into a dark space. She followed him inside and flicked a switch, summoning light to swallow the darkness. Rob heard her push the door shut behind him and turn the lock. It hit him. He was alone in a closed space with a murderer. No one could see them. She could kill him now and no one could stop her. Hell, it would be the perfect time to do it. He heard something hit the floor and realized she’d dropped the tote bag.

Leaving just the gun in her hand.

He tensed, expecting to feel the press of a gun barrel against the back of his head any moment. He tried not to whimper. Tried to be brave.

He closed his eyes and waited for the end.

Then he felt something small and hard hammer the small of his back. He cried out and pitched forward, his knees painfully smacking the hard and filthy floor tiles. His eyes came open a moment before something—her open palm, he realized an instant later—struck the side of his head and drove him the rest of the way to the floor.

“Get under the sink.”

Rob rolled onto his side and stared up at her through eyes misted with tears. “Jesus. You didn’t have to hit me.”

She kicked him in the shin and he cried out again.

“Do what I fucking told you before I lose my patience.”

Rob got to his hands and knees and stared at the small porcelain sink. It was mounted against the wall to the left. A rust-corroded pipe protruded from the bottom of the sink and fed through a hole in the wall. Roxie kicked him again, in the ass this time, and he yelped. He hurriedly
crawled under the sink and stared up at her again as she knelt in front of him. The dark sunglasses were up over her forehead, nestled in the raven black hair. She looked sexier than ever, down there on her haunches, so close to him now, the thrust of her breasts against the tight T-shirt more evident than ever. He stared into her eyes and felt the shame come back. This beautiful face…at this angle…It was probably exactly the way those poor fucks in the Neon had seen her in the final, unsuspecting moments of their lives. In his mind he saw the bright splash of red against the Neon’s rear window. He started shaking again.

She smiled. “Scared?”

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

She stared at him silently a moment, head at an angle, lips pursed as she studied him. Then she smiled again and said, “Good. I like that.” She grabbed the open cuff and snapped it shut around the pipe. “You just hang out there while I get changed.” She laughed. “Though I guess you don’t have much choice, huh?”

Rob just stared at her.

Still smiling, she grabbed the tote bag and stood up. She turned away from him and leaned against the sink as she rummaged through the bag again. Rob stared at the backs of her legs and again tried not to think of…things. She hummed a tune as she dug through the bag, a jaunty melody he couldn’t place. It sounded wrong coming from the likes of her.

The bathroom was small. There was a single stall without a door and a single urinal next to it. Mounted on the wall next to the door was a coin-operated condom dispenser, mostly the novelty type that were no good for actual contraception. He’d purchased some once as a gag gift for his exgirlfriend. God. Charlene. What an amazing girl she’d been. That radiant smile. Her enthusiasm. What he’d give to see her now. Breaking up with her had been such a dick move.
And for what? To sow some wild oats? How stupid was that? He’d already had the perfect girl. So what if Lindsey—his best friend and roommate—loathed her?

If I ever get out of here
—

The tote bag dropped to the floor again and Roxie moved away from the sink. She stood in the center of the room and began the process of shimmying out of her goth-slut outfit. First the T-shirt came off over her head. Charlene’s image was vanquished in an instant. The black, frilly bra juxtaposed against the pale, smooth skin was a compelling sight to behold. The skirt came off next and she tossed it into the tote bag. She kicked her shoes off and leaned against the stall. She lifted one leg and began to peel off a striped sock. Slowly. Rob’s gaze went to her face. She was looking right at him. And it hit him. She was doing this as much for effect as necessity. She rolled the sock up and tossed it in the bag. Then she repeated the same slow process with the other sock. Rob kept staring at her. He knew he should look away and not allow her to manipulate him this way, at least muster some small show of respect for the people she’d killed.

But he just couldn’t do it.

She tossed the other sock in the bag. “See anything you like?”

She laughed.

And Rob yelped as something struck the other side of the bathroom door three times. A muffled voice called out: “Hurry up in there! I gotta piss like a Russian racehorse.”

Roxie looked Rob in the eye. She didn’t need to say anything, her intense expression communicating a command as clear as any verbal directive. “Just gimme a sec to finish up in here. I’m going as fast as I can. I’m having…uh…feminine issues.”

A snort from the other side of the door. “Feminine issues, my ass. Fucking whore. I saw you go in there with that guy. It’s against the law to have sex in public bathrooms, did you
know that? Now get out of there and let me take a piss or I call the cops.”

Roxie went to the door and drew it partially open. “Look, I’m taking care of some business in here. This guy’s paying me good money to go off on his ass with some kinky shit.” She opened the door wider, and a man Rob remembered as the dumpy dude from the gas pumps peeked in at him.

The man grinned and looked at Roxie. “No shit?”

Roxie smiled some more and posed seductively. “No shit. You’d be surprised at some of the twisted shit these bondage freaks are into. He’s even paying me to verbally abuse him.” Roxie glanced at Rob. “Isn’t that right, you miserable piece of shit?”