A Self Made Monster (10 page)

Frank dropped to his knees. A purple bulb disfigured his forehead. Alex removed his knife from his jacket pocket. He was about to cut Frank’s throat, but on a whim, he jabbed the knife into Frank’s eye. The eye leaked like a runny poached egg. To silence Frank, Alex stuffed Frank’s cap into his mouth.

Sandy
crawled slowly from the kitchenette to the living room. Alex watched, fascinated by her halting, awkward motions; she crawled like a partially squashed insect. Finally, she made it to the end table, where the phone was.

Alex took a running start and kicked Sandy’s head. Her head struck the end table, and one of the table’s legs spun across the room like a cheerleader’s errant baton. A bloody clump of flesh and hair stuck to a corner of the table. Alex removed the flesh and ate it.

Alex cut Sandy’s throat and sucked. The blood was thick, pungent. Its bouquet filled his senses until the air smelled of warm blood.

After Alex finished, he wiped his mouth and chest with Sandy’s bath towel, and dressed. Then he stood over Frank, who breathed noisily through his bloody nostrils.

“You were right,” Alex whispered. “You should’ve killed us both.”

Frank tried to grab Alex’s ankle, and Alex stomped Frank’s head until it split.

Six blocks from
Sandy
‘s apartment, Alex hailed a taxi.

The cabby pointed at a police car speeding north. “That’s the third one. Busy night.”

“Never a dull moment for the cops.”

“I got a police scanner in the car here.” He pointed to a small box with a row of tiny flashing red lights. “There’s different stuff every night. That squad car, it’s going up to Broadway.”

“What’s the trouble?”

“From what I can tell, a domestic dispute. Some guy beating up his wife.”

“Or visa versa.”

They laughed.

Edward had slept poorly and was glad to see day break. He sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing his eyes and yawning. All night he had fretted over his plans to seduce Holly Dish. He had revised and reevaluated his plans, but he was losing hope.

His first plan had been to slyly ingratiate himself with her, to win her confidence, and to sleep with her: as simple as putting on a shoe, lacing it, and tying. But he knew that she was not attracted to him. At least not yet.

He stood in front of the dresser mirror. The refection winced. His hair was oily and matted; his skin was pasty, its only color the green circles under his eyes and the red splotches of three pimples on his chin and cheeks; his trunk was pear shaped, with a sunken chest and the start of a spare tire. Edward frowned. He was only twenty-one. How had he gotten so out of shape?

He got on the floor and did ten trembling push-ups, then had to rest his burning arms.

His fatigue increased his frustration. What can I do? he wondered. I’ve tried courtesy, flattery and humor. I’ve gotten nowhere. What does it take to get her in bed? The old reliables? Lies, booze, and drugs?

In the coffee shop, Edward played it cool. Holly was sitting with two other women. When he walked by their booth, he ignored Holly. Holly ignored him.

Alex drank coffee and chatted with a few students, but Edward did not join the discussion. He simply ordered coffee and sulked. When he saw Jimmy Stubbs, Edward pretended to study his fingernails.

“All right, ladies and gentleman,” Alex announced. “We have a few hours until the matinee at the Blackstone. You’re free to do what you wish until then. We will meet in the lobby at one thirty. The performance starts at two o’clock. Please be on time.”

Alex paused, sipped some coffee. Sandy had been healthy, indeed: Alex felt rested, focused, and brisk. He even remembered what this afternoon’s play was about. Enjoying his role of learned scholar, Alex summarized
St. Joan
. “Mr. Shaw’s play is famous for many reasons. In my opinion, its best quality is the humor. On the one hand, it’s the story of a woman who martyrs herself for the French Revolution. On the other hand, it’s filled with gallows humor and features an unusually full portrait of Joan. She is not a two dimensional, politically correct plaster saint.”

Alex clasped his hands, as he imagined a learned scholar would.

“Rather, she is full blooded and fully human, with all the failings of human beings. Human beings,” Alex announced, “are so funny in their failings.” Alex smiled at the cliché: if he could bring off that stale observation with verve, he must be fully professorial after all.

The play was over, and Jimmy figured it had been good. He was not sure because he hated plays. But the audience had laughed at several scenes. Edward Know It All had laughed more than anybody. Twice, Jimmy had heard Edward’s smart ass snicker when no one else was laughing.

The students boarded the bus. Most were tired, and several complained about classes on Monday. Jimmy did not mind going back. The trip had gone badly. He was still fuming because Edward Know It All was filming Holly. Edward had spent an hour filming Holly in the theater lobby, and he even threw a directorial temper tantrum when an elderly woman walked in front of the camera.

And now Edward was yapping about the play with a couple other fungo heads. Resartus was laughing and talking with them. Jimmy had never seen Resartus so animated. He guessed Resartus had spooled a tart during their field trip.

“Last year,” Resartus said, “we didn’t make it to Chicago. Some administrator decided the trip was too costly, and the funding was cut.”

“That’s preposterous,” Edward said.

“Farcical,” Resartus agreed.

“Really sucks,” Holly added.

“But I raised some hell and got the funding back,” Resartus continued. “Students always gain so much from the trip, so the money is well spent. And what does the administration need with that money? I don’t think one of them would appreciate the play, much less understand it.” He laughed. On cue, several other students laughed.

Holly had not understood the play either, but she smiled knowingly. “Culture isn’t for everyone.” She waited for the group to laugh. No one did. “At least, not for administrators.”

She got a tepid chuckle or two and decided to get serious. “Professor Resartus, what plays did the previous class see?”

“The last play we saw was
Oedipus Rex
.”

Holly nodded, pretending to know the play.

Edward jumped in. “The Ancient Greeks wrote some good comedies. They were called satyr plays, and they were performed after the tragedies. You know, to lighten the audience’s mood.” Edward started to give a history of satyr plays, but caught himself.

The group changed topics a few times: they talked about Chicago, about school, about their plans for graduation. Eventually they became quiet, and a few students moved to the back to doze. Holly wanted to keep talking. She wanted to impress Resartus with her knowledge because she needed his 1etter of recommendation. But she did not know what to say, so the conversation died.

She did not, however, move from her seat. She decided to feign sleep. Sleeping with men gave her power over them, perhaps even if the sleep was just a nap on a bus.

A half-hour from campus, Jimmy took charge. Holly had woken, and Edward was talking again. Jimmy moved to the seat behind Alex and Holly and loudly cleared his throat.

“Holly, ” Jimmy said, “have you got any more theories about the campus murder?”

“Theories?”

“Yes, theories.” Jimmy leaned forward until his face almost touched the back of Holly’s seat. “I think the murderer had to be somebody who’s connected to the campus. Maybe even a student.”

“Maybe,” Holly allowed. “But that’d be risky. The guy might be identified.”

Alex smiled. “What’s this about a murder?”

Holly was surprised. “You haven’t heard about it?”

“Well, I knew about the female student that was murdered a while back, but…”

“Lori was, like, she really got messed up,” someone lamented.

“No,” Holly said. “This is another murder.”

“Where did they find the body?” Alex asked.

“There isn’t one,” Holly said.

“But there is a body,” Jimmy asserted. “I know there is.”

Edward, unwilling to let Jimmy enjoy everyone’s attention, recounted the story of lending his jacket to the maintenance man who never returned. Jimmy motioned for Edward to hurry, but Edward instead speculated about the murderer and the motive.

“For a while, I thought somebody might be after me,” Edward grinned. “But I doubt anybody wants me dead.”

“Well, the guy wants me dead,” Jimmy asserted. Several students scrutinized him. He paused, savoring the attention. Jane Johnston asked if Jimmy had any enemies.

“Not until I confronted the murderer.”

Jane let out a little squeal. “What happened?”

Jimmy explained how he looked for clues to the maintenance man’s disappearance. He could not resist a few embellishments: the murderer took a swing at him, Jimmy claimed, but Jimmy punched back. The murderer raised his fist to punch again, but Jimmy challenged him “to take your best shot and hope it lands.” The man took a few steps backward, Jimmy explained, then ran off.

“That’s amazing!” Jane said. “Where did the guy run to?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, where did you chase him to?”

Jimmy smiled, leaned back in his seat. He needed a few seconds to construct an answer.

“I started to, but I fell on the ice. When I got up, my ankle was killing me. I had a hard time walking, much less running.” He examined the faces of his audience, trying to gauge their credulity.

“There wasn’t any ice there,” Edward said.

“Right!” Jimmy snorted. “I guess I slipped on a banana peel.”

“Let’s not get bogged down in details,” Alex said. “This is an amazing story. Anyway, you slipped. When you got up, the guy was gone?” He nodded at Jimmy to continue.

“Yeah, but by then I’d cooled off a bit, you know, and I thought, ‘Christ, what are you doing? The guy could have a gun!”’

Jane shook her head, confused. “You said the man wants you dead.”

“That’s what he told me.”

“But he only took a swing at you.”

“Yes.”

“He was so big that if he hit you, he would have killed you?”

“Oh yeah!” Jimmy’ excitement soared, and he struggled to remain calm and credible. “Before he swung at me, he said, ‘You’re next, pal. I swear to God, you’re next.’”

Edward wanted to jump into the conversation, but he could not contradict Jimmy without seeming petulant.

Edward tried to sound reasonable. “Do you think that the murderer thinks there’s some connection between you and the maintenance man?”

Jimmy shrugged.

“Maybe the guy has a list of people he wants to kill!” Jane blurted. “There’s got to be some connection between you and the maintenance man. And Lori too!”

“If we knew the guy’s background, maybe we could find a link,” Edward suggested.

“The poor guy,” Holly sighed. “He goes out for a walk and gets killed.”

“And it could have been you!” Jane pointed at Edward. Edward waved his hand to dismiss the notion.

“No, really. Maybe someone wants you dead,” Jane insisted.

Billy Thomas had been listening carefully, and he offered his own theory: “It could have been a case of mistaken identity. Maybe the guy thought the maintenance dude was, you know, was you.”

“I doubt it,” Edward said.

“But the dude was wearing, he was wearing your coat. How tall was he?”

“I don’t know. About average.”

“About your height, right?”

“A little taller, I think.”

“But in the dark, with your jacket on, the murderer might think it was you. You said that you walked to 7-Eleven every night, and the guy, he was walking there at the same time you did.”

“And in your jacket,” Jane added.

“The theory is plausible,” Alex said cheerfully. He was amused that the students had figured out the cause of the maintenance man’s murder, but he was not worried. Murders demanded motives, and his motive was too absurd to be considered.

“I still don’t think so,” Edward insisted. He was pleased to be the center of attention. He glanced at Jimmy, who fumed. “Nobody wants me dead. I don’t owe anyone money, I haven’t stolen anything, I’m not worth a lot of money, and I never carry anything valuable.”

“No kidding,” Jimmy said.

“Second, the maintenance guy really did owe people money. He told me that he needed overtime to pay off some debts. I think that whoever he owed money to got impatient.”

“I heard that the guy’s wife divorced him because he gambled,” Holly said.

“I heard the same thing,” Billy said. “But I also heard that he was spooling a married babe in town, a bona fide party ass.” He snapped his fingers. “Maybe that Lori was spooling the maintenance guy. The wife found out and she, she…” He ran his index finger across his throat.

“That could be,” Holly agreed.

“Or maybe he just took off with the babe,” Billy added.