Hair of the Bitch - A Twisted Suspense Thriller (6 page)

“Financial gain? Are you telling me you
sell
these videos? There’s a market for shit like this?”

“Oh God yeah. You’d be shocked at some of the clientele I have. Celebrities, politicians…. That’s why discretion is so important.”

“This…this is very fucked up.”

“Oh, come on, Calvin. What happened to that dark side of yours?” I didn’t respond.

“Do you think what’s happened here is by accident? It’s my
job
to find people like you. To find people who are lost and have no direction and who have a genuine distaste for the very world that houses them. Do you think I just wandered into your spa for a massage one day by chance?”

I stared at her like a kid slapped.

“Every day on your lunch break you go to the food court at the mall. And every day you order your food and sit as far away from people as you can.
Everybody
people watches, Calvin—but not you. No, you keep your head down and pressed into a magazine or a book or even the surface of the table—God forbid you should make eye contact with someone.

“When you’re done eating, you head to the DVD store and make a beeline towards the horror movies. You thumb through them, consider a few, but usually never buy; you just like to look. I always saw this pacifying look of contentment when you thumbed through those movies…”

“Lots of horror fans out there. Doesn’t make me Ted Bundy.”

She smiled. “That’s true. What sold me on you was the kid.”

“The kid?”

“You’d just finished your lunch one day. You were reading something—a horror movie
magazine I believe?” She smirked and I looked away. “Anyway,” she said, “you were reading your magazine when a little boy ran by your table and tripped. He skidded on his face and really hurt himself. Everyone in the vicinity gasped in horror and concern. They immediately went to the child’s aid. But not you. What did you do, Calvin? Do you remember?”

I felt my chest tighten.

“You laughed didn’t you? Well, you
wanted
to laugh. Slapped your hand over your mouth and did your absolute damnedest not to burst out on the spot.”

I remembered. I
did
stifle a laugh.

“The boy was really hurt. His face was bloodied. Yet I never saw a look of concern on your face. I saw…what did I see? Was it gratification? Enjoyment maybe?” She paused deliberately, her smirk now painted on. “Do you remember this?”

“I remember.”

“Ninety-nine percent of the people who witnessed that child fall were upset and concerned, yet you wanted to laugh. That’s why you’re here.”

My chest continued to shrink. I had always been aware of my shortcomings and issues, but I had no idea that I would end up being the subject of someone’s study of which to utilize these undesirables. How the hell could I? I decided to voice some reason.

“Watching a kid trip and fall is one thing. Watching someone being systematically tortured is another. A
big
fucking other.”

“Or maybe you were just the only one with the balls to laugh in public.”

I shook my head in protest. “I’m not proud of it. I—if the kid was like,
badly
hurt I wouldn’t have wanted to laugh.”

She ignored me as if I’d said nothing. “Look at television,” she began. “It’s all
about
violence. The media, TV drama, even comedy. Have you seen those internet shows of people doing stupid shit and getting seriously hurt? The audience roars. We
all
have a morbid fascination with violence. Problem is, society castrates us; instills us with those holier-than-thou morals that repress these needs and wants. It gives but doesn’t approve. Can you fathom a bigger hypocrisy?”

“Again, you’re comparing a stupid kid falling off his skateboard and squashing his nuts to people being brutally tortured. The first
is
funny; the latter is not. Like I said, if the little boy at the mall had been
badly
hurt, I wouldn’t have—”

“He
was
badly hurt.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Neither do you.”

Dammit.

“It’s nothing new, Calvin. It’s not Marilyn Manson or Metallica’s fault we’re this way. Christ, public executions used to be a social event. Families showed up for them. Kids.

“The problem is that most people aren’t willing to embrace these needs and wants. My clientele is. They’ve not only come to terms with these impulses, but managed to turn them into a shameless fetish that will fulfill every desire that society shuns.”

“
Fucking crazy,
” I muttered.

“Why do people slow down when passing a car accident?” she asked.

I made a face. “The police maybe?”

She gave me a look. “Don’t insult me.”

I knew what she was getting at. Of course people slow for the police, but there’s another reason. Damn if I’d give her the satisfaction of voicing it though.

“Everybody wants to look,” she said, voicing it for me. “Everybody looks in hopes of getting a glimpse of that mangled body. Later they’ll re-tell the event, say how tragic, how horrible, but deep down, that suppressed urge—be it conscious or unconscious—tasted delight in that glimpse.”

I still didn’t respond. She was making sense and it disturbed me.

“Let me ask you something,” she said. “Now that it’s done, how do you feel after last night?”

“You already asked me that.”

“And I don’t recall a definitive answer.”

I said nothing.

“Are you really so distraught that you took another man’s life?” she said. “Or are you conflicted because you don’t feel remorse about what you did? You
think
it should bother you, it’s
not
bothering you, and
that’s
what’s bothering you.”

I twitched. “How can you say it’s not bothering me? How would you know? How would you know
anything
about me? All you’ve got to go on is what we’ve said to each other during half a dozen massage sessions.”

“I can certainly judge you from what I’ve recently seen.”

“What I did last night was self-defense.”

“A bit excessive wasn’t it? What about the poor guy at the bar?”

“I was defending
you
!”

She made the kind of face people make when they see a puppy. “I know. That was so sweet. So predictable.”

Predictable?

“Did you have something to do with that too?” I said.

She winked at me. “Your psycho act cost me an additional three grand. I had to visit the guy at the hospital the next day to pay him. We had no idea you were gonna be so rough.”

“I don’t believe this…you’ve been playing me like a fucking…” I stopped and dropped my head into my hands. “Those movies…I can’t believe you produce and sell shit like that.”

“Well, I’m not the only one,” she said.

I lifted my head. “What do you mean? You saying you have competitors?”

“Of course I do. I’m the biggest though. Well…second biggest. I
do
think I’m the best. Soon I’ll be the best
and
the biggest.”

“Who’s number one?” I asked.

“Whoa, easy there, sexy; I wouldn’t use the term
number one
. They’re just
bigger
. They have a larger clientele because they deal in sick shit.”

“Dare I ask what you classify as
sick shit
?”

“Bestiality; couples pissing and shitting on each other; gang rape.” She sneered. “Sick.”

“Well it’s nice to know morality isn’t
totally
lost on people of your ilk.”

“Funny. So you want the job?”

“Think I’ll have to pass,” I said.

“It was kind of a rhetorical question.”

“How’s that?”

“Well you don’t have much of a say in the matter do you? It’s a bit late to start changing your decision at this stage of the game.”

“I never
made
any decision.”

“You made your decision when you killed Alex,” she said.

“You gotta be kidding me. That guy came at me like a fucking maniac.”

“Really?” she said, her face a bad actor’s try at quizzical. “I don’t remember it that way.”

She pushed a few more buttons on the remote. I heard the whir of the DVD player changing discs. The TV came to life again.

It was me. Killing the freak. The whole thing caught on tape from multiple points of view.

Strike that. It was
not
the whole thing.

It did not show Angela.

It did not show me bound on the bed.

It did not show the freak emerging from behind the curtains with an aluminum bat, charging, wanting to take my head off.

It showed me bludgeoning a man to death.

It showed a close-up of my panting face.

It showed a close-up of the twitching, very dead freak.

Never mind the freak was dressed in a black Spiderman getup. Never mind I was wearing nothing but boxer shorts. The way the film had been edited, we could have been two kinky lovers doing a little role-playing before yours truly took it a bit too far.

Bottom line: the film made me look like a stone-cold killer.

I stared at the black screen for several beats after Angela clicked it off. I could see my reflection in that screen. I looked small, like the once-cozy marshmallow chair
was
swallowing me. I wished it would.

“I assume that was a copy?” I managed to say.

“Yeah. Why, did you want one?”

I glared at her.

“So this is some kind of blackmail,” I said.

“Ugly word.”

“But apt,” I said. “Problem is, if you turn me in, I’ll turn you in. I’ll tell them everything about you. You might have doctored that footage to make me look guilty, but with the right lawyer…”

“You could do that,” she replied. “You’d be taking a pretty big chance though.”

“How so?”

“I’ve been doing this a long time, Calvin. I’ve got all the necessary wheels greased. Like I said, you’d be absolutely stunned if you knew who some of my clients were.”

I could feel my pulse in my head.

She kneeled before me, reached up and stroked my cheek. “Look at that handsome face.” She brought her hand down into the chair’s plush material and gripped my ass. “Look at that tight little ass. Do you know what would happen to someone like you in prison, Calvin?”

She had hit on one my strongest phobias. My reply was barely above a whisper. “Yes,” I mumbled.

“It would be a tragedy to let such a wonderful man go to waste.” She unbuttoned my pants, pulled them to my ankles.

My dick in her hand, mouth closing in, she glanced up at me with predatory eyes. “Don’t worry, baby…it’s going to be a fun ride.”

She also had the decency to bring me to a different room than the one I had “played baseball” in, to which I was very grateful. I never did remember to ask her if the freak’s body was still in the house somewhere. Part of me didn’t want to. Because if it was gone, disposed of, then that heightened my anxiety of help being close by. That freak was a big, tough fucker—which likely meant there were more big, tough fuckers floating around. Maybe the first test was over, but maybe I had eight more innings ahead of me. Who the hell knew? The only thing I did know was that the woman was human Xanax; those worries receded the entire time we were together. Murder? Blackmail? Future employee of Dahmer’s Wet Dreams, Inc.? Petty stuff when Angela’s having her way with you.

Except we were done now, my body drained of fluid, but plentiful again with fear and apprehension. I was also drained of food. I hadn’t eaten yet today, and my stomach was talking. Angela, who had been dozing on my belly, lifted her head, yawned and said, “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I haven’t eaten yet today.”

I expected her to offer me something, or perhaps suggest we go out together for a bite. But all she did was roll off the bed and head for the bathroom. I figured she wanted to use the toilet. Be back in a minute after a quick pee with a proposal for food. Instead I heard the shower.

Okay,
I thought.
A quick pee and a shower. That’s cool—I can wait.

Nope.

Angela opened the bathroom door a crack, her disembodied voice loud over the running water.

“You can go, Calvin,” she said. “I’ll call you when I need you.”

She closed the door and I soon heard the rhythm of the shower change as her body hit the water. I remained on the bed, naked and confused. Her indifference to our recent passion was both curious and humbling. I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed, trying to work it out. Was it all just business? My ego wanted to believe that at least some of her intensity was genuine, but for all I knew, this was part of her
job
, and I was simply another freak’s cock that needed milking.

Still, my ego insisted there was something else there. Not much, but something. Maybe. Something?

(
No. Now can
we go eat?
)

I sighed and got dressed. I patted my pants’ pockets for my keys, then checked the two nightstands. I was about to drop to my hands and knees and start searching the floor when I remembered Angela had driven me here. My car was back at my apartment.

I felt nervous knocking on the bathroom door. I had just spent the last two hours screwing this woman all over the freaking bedroom, and now I was worried about bothering her in the shower? Again, the power this woman possessed…

I rapped lightly on the door. She didn’t answer. I rapped louder. Her response was firm.