The Last Customer (3 page)

           
And now, while she watched Rod suck on the glass pipe, she enjoyed the memory of her father’s demise. Murder was invigorating. The meth accentuated Patty and Rod’s experiences. It was a tool of choice to heighten their sensations.

Patty had wanted to kill her father for many years. She’d thought about it day and night. She even played out scenarios, in her head, of killing him. Finally, Rod talked Patty into moving forward, killing him. He’d sat her down, explained that she didn’t have to feel guilty for relishing the nasty things that she enjoyed doing. He told her that to achieve happiness she would have to accept the sick thoughts swirling in her head. She needed to revel in her sickness. With acceptance came happiness. It helped, as he said that it would. Her wall of inhibitions crumbled when it came to Rod. He made Patty happy and she would do anything for him. Just thinking about the beautiful crimson blood as it drained from her father’s neck, allowed her to feel sensations of love and hate intertwined. Her thoughts were good—orgasmic.
She loved her hate.

           
A blooming cloud of amphetamine smoke erupted from Rod’s mouth. His throat bulged. A huffing sound escaped his lips. Although his T-shirt was white, Patty could see a hint of yellow. The cotton material sagged from the weight of his sweat. They’d been sitting in the ungodly heat for the past three days. Sure, they showered, but as soon as the sweat washed off, it was leaking from their pores again.

Patty took the pipe, then the lighter. She put the pipe to her lips, and then sucked. She retracted the pipe, smiled, and set the glass tube down on the coffee table. She let the rush of amphetamine pump through her blood system. Immediately, her veins jumped with life. She shook her head. Her own cloud of smoke barreled out from between her parted lips.

She leaned forward and ran her fingers through her bleached blonde hair. It was damp. Rod liked her hair to be blonde. He liked her skin to be tanned, telling her—everyday—that she was beautiful. When they made love, it was strong and intense. The drugs accentuated the sensation—the ferocity of the sex—but not the passion of it. She could near climax—most of the time—when she locked onto his blue eyes. They were calm, the color of the ocean and they reminded her of the warm water of Baja Mexico. That’s where they intended to live after they fled from the states. Before they could do that, they would need to leave this house. A manhunt would be assigned to them soon, they both knew it, and they could feel it was coming. They’d left a trail of bodies across three or four states. Each victim looked the same. They were all tied up in the basement and missing limbs. Surely, there was a detective that had
picked up on
the similarities and they knew they wouldn’t be able to stay in the country for long. It was only a matter of time before they would be caught.

           
The house where they resided belonged to a young woman who was maybe thirty years old. The attractive, professional woman had been sipping on chardonnay from a large wine glass at a cozy little tavern in Middleton, a town just outside of Madison, Wisconsin. The bar was nearly empty. Only a few patrons inhabited the bar on that fateful night. Like always, Patty had taken her seat near the end of the bar. It was her job to
watch
, nonchalantly, while Rod made the young lady’s acquaintance. He would charm the young woman, entrancing her with his eyes. His eyes won him the girl every time. Patty knew this. It was how he’d won
her.
Rod probably would have killed Patty too if he hadn’t sensed the
sickness
within her.

His eyes were magnificent.

The woman continued relaxing at her small candlelit table in the dining section. Rod walked to her table. He inquired if she’d like company. He’d already asked the bartender what she was drinking. When he approached her, he held another glass of the chardonnay she sipped on. When Rod and the girl, Judy, left together, three hours later, the bartender was oblivious to the fact that Patty had any relation to Rod.

Rod would soon tie Judy to a metal post in the basement of her nice Victorian home.

           
Now, sitting in Judy’s living room, passing the pipe back and forth, Rod and Patty decided that it was time to do away with her. This
thing,
Judy, had been fun to play with, but it was time to move on.

They’d removed both of Judy’s arms with a hacksaw that they’d found in the garage. To stop the bleeding they’d cauterized the stumps against the red hot bottom of a frying pan. They had found the black pan in the kitchen cupboard below the microwave. They’d held it over an open flame for an hour before cauterizing Judy’s stumps with it.

Judy wore a gag, which was merely a dirty rag stuffed in her mouth. It muffled her screams while they laughed at the agony she displayed.

Judy didn’t have neighbors. Her house was isolated. For the three days that Patty and Rod had taken residence in Judy’s home, no one had come to check on her. The mailman delivered, but didn’t venture past the mailbox at the end of the driveway. Not once did he think to come to the door and ask why she hadn’t picked up her mail. Judy had no friends, so there was no one to hear her masked sorrows. No one would help her. She was vulnerable and alone.

After the second day, Judy explained that she’d taken a week of vacation from work. She’d recently finished an important trial that she’d been working on for two years. It was now over and she was taking a week off to recuperate and celebrate.

Not quite the celebration that she’d hoped for.

           
Rod removed his shirt, practically peeling it off, as the sweat ridden cloth stuck to his back. Patty watched him disrobe. She admired his chiseled body. He wasn’t overly muscular, but his muscles bulged from beneath his skin. He had no fat. He was tan, but not dark, that kind of a beach boy tanned appearance, that accentuated his boy-next-door looks. To the living dead of society, he was a male fantasy. No one saw him or understood him the way that Patty did.

Rod and Patty could enjoy their sickness undetected. They could take pleasure in their
sinister deeds
without the predetermined flood of guilt that waved-in with societal standards.

           
When Rod pulled the basement door open, a cool musty breeze shot up the stairs and kissed Patty’s face. It was refreshing. Faintly, she heard Judy attempting to scream. The scream was diluted by her gag.

Patty followed Rod down the creaky wooden stairs. The large basement was dark and dank. There were round, red, posts cemented along the sides and at the center. A washer and dryer were neatly aligned behind the staircase, in the right corner. All the amenities of a fine Midwestern basement were present. Beneath Judy’s
stink
was the pleasing scent of dryer sheets and laundry detergent.

           
Judy’s legs rested flat on the cement floor, beneath her pool of urine and excrement. The smell was bad. Patty and Rod’s excitement allowed them to disregard the odor. The stench was a minor inconvenience. Torturing this woman for the past three days was enlightening. The power that came with controlling Judy’s demise was spiritual.

           
Patty watched while Rod knelt beside Judy. His abdominals flexed as he knelt. Patty was enamored.

Rod looked into Judy’s eyes and smiled.

“I want to thank you, Judy,” he said politely. “Sorry.” He turned to Patty and nodded. “
We
…want to thank you. You’ve given us the greatest gift.
You,”
he continued in a sweet voice.

           
Judy cringed. Her face was caked with dried sweat, blood and tears. Her skin was haggard and pruned. Her stumps flailed comically, as she struggled. The heavy rope wrapped around her slim, naked waist prevented her from escaping. Her body convulsed when she lowered her head and began to sob.

           
Patty’s lips stretched wide. Her pearly, bleach-white teeth, jutted forward. The ultimate excitement was at hand. Fulfillment was coming. The torture, sex, and foreplay
of murder
had risen, boiling to a head.

Patty watched Rod extract a straight razor from his back pocket. The blade was spotless as he retracted it from the handle. He placed the recently sharpened razor beneath Judy’s chin. It sunk into the soft flesh of her neck.

           
“
Guh
…
guh
…
guh
…
”,
billowed from her mouth.

Her throat heaved upward, riveting when the razor dug into her neck. Her skin parted in neat slices. Smiling, Rod slid the blade lengthwise. Blood spilled like a theater curtain and painted her naked breasts and stomach red.

           
Patty’s excitement grew while the woman convulsed. Judy’s life drained along with the color from her face. Patty knew what came next. The end of the ritual was Patty’s favorite part. She and Rod would smoke more amphetamine and then make love for hours. The power of what they’d done would peak and sex was the only way to settle their restlessness.

           
Patty felt a moment of fear when Rod twisted his neck toward her. His scowl was intimidating as he rose and then strutted in her direction. His facial expression was intense, when he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her to straddle him. She felt the stiffness below his hips as he carried her upstairs to Judy’s bedroom.

The pair engaged in carnal pleasures for hours.

3

 
A pleasant breeze swept through the house as the sun began to set. In the bedroom, Rod and Patty watched out the window while the blood orange sun fell below the hilly terrain to the west. It cast a wonderful glow over the countryside, across the endless acres of forest.

Naked, Rod and Patty held each other. They lay in bed until sleep found them. The amphetamine had kept them awake for three days, but now, their bodies demanded rest. Their eyes drooped and soon they were out. After a long sleep they could continue their morbid journey with fresh energy.

           
They awoke twenty-four hours later to another sunset. Sobriety was unkind. They felt drained, exhausted, and depleted. They were experiencing the tolls of the drugs. Getting up from the bed, Rod made his way to the kitchen. He could smell Judy’s stink, suggesting she had begun rotting in the basement.

Reality sunk in. They couldn’t stay in this house much longer. The stink would travel fast. This was a fact that Rod knew well and was certain that Patty would agree. The hunt, capture, and kill had been amazing but the evolution of their experience was complete. Rod had a familiar feeling, a feeling he’d experienced many times. Staying in this house was risky. They were on borrowed time, and every moment that they stayed was another moment that they could
get
caught.

Rod wouldn’t go to prison. He’d eat a bullet or cut his own throat before he’d go to jail. He and Patty needed to recuperate. They needed to fuel up, and leave.

Night was beginning. They could enjoy each other for one more evening, but then they would have to travel-on. Their plans were to drive south to Chicago, west to Arizona, then down to Mexico. They’d saved a good amount of money along their destructive path, close to two hundred thousand dollars. Robbing liquor stores, gas stations, and even a few small banks had given them a plentiful bounty.

           
Rod gulped water from the kitchen sink faucet. It tasted good as its smooth coolness hydrated him. Midwestern water tasted clean.
Maybe it was the lack of chlorine
. He didn’t know for sure. Water moaned through the old pipes making him aware that Patty was showering. The creaking pipes from the upstairs shower drifted into the kitchen. Rod smiled. He went to the living room, hit the glass pipe, and went upstairs.

           
The bathroom door was open and he could see the lights were off. There were three candles set across the sink and on the back of the toilet. Candlelight danced across the blue walls and reflected elegantly across the clear glass shower door. Rod removed his clothes.

Naked, he stepped into the warm water feeling its softness pelt his skin. The last hit off the pipe had renewed his energy.

Patty’s hair was slick, wet, and neatly pulled back. It came to a point in the center of her back, just above her nicely shaped backside. Her skin was flawless, radiating in the candlelight which caused her body to shimmer. He was aroused by her beauty, noting that she was a stunning woman. He was a beautiful boy. Their looks would run out with time, but for now, they enjoyed each other’s vanity. They were both appealing and took pleasure in carnal activities, hungered for each other’s flesh.

           
“We’ll leave tomorrow night. I’ll take care of the smell in the basement. The best I can, anyway. We’ll smoke some bowls and fuck tonight.” Rod explained while he placed his fingers under her chin, lifting her face.

           
Patty nodded. She grabbed a washcloth and began to scrub Rod’s back. She focused on the fast streams of water that ran between his loins. His backside was well formed and hairless. She liked to touch him.

           
“I’ll do whatever you tell me.” She nodded while kneading her fingers into the flesh of his tense back.

She
would
do anything for him. She’d slit her own throat with his razor if he asked her to, and he knew it.

           
“I know, babe. That’s why I love you.”

           
She smiled affectionately as she grabbed the green bar of soap from the ledge beneath the showerhead and lathered him up. They held each other beneath the warm beads of water, bodies rubbing together.

           
They made love again.

4

As the early morning hours evaporated, so did the continuing ribbons of smoke from the glass pipe. Wound and sped up, Patty and Rod saw imaginary shadows dance across the living room walls. Shadows were nothing new. Rod had seen things that
weren’t there
many times while in the depths of a meth binge and knew it was part of the psychosis. However, this time there were noises; silent screams drifted into his ears. When he saw the frightened look upon Patty’s face, his blood rushed. He froze. He’d never witnessed this expression of fear from her.
 
And as the torturous sounds grew unquenchable, she could only stand motionless.
 
Anxious, he turned toward the noise.
 
And then there was rustling, like bare feet scraping across cold cement.