Caution: Not for the fainthearted.
His eyes and low slung purring Audi followed her. Trailing her loose-limbed steps from the bus stop, down to the dusky lit quiet street of the clandestine underground night club “The Cock and Bull”. It was a known for its open secrets of hosting nefarious activities, yet it drew the inquisitive and adventurous ones like bees to a honey dew pot. A place where no questions were asked and no answers received. A place to let your thoughts roam wild and possibly get lucky.
Watching the outline of her slight lissome built and her eclectic dressing in the dimmed haze of the night light, simply piqued his interest some more. Her profile showed attractive features (he liked them attractive) and he was on the prowl.
The past few weeks of keeping his nose clean and carrying on his normal life, had worn his patience thin and he needed the ensuing excitement that the night would offer.
Parking a block away, he quickly followed her retreating shadow into the rowdy club, and as usual no questions were asked, no answers offered.
The club which ran till the wee hours of the morning, was habitually smoke filled, darkly lit with only flashing colored light beams and very loud heavy metal music blaring from its powerful systems. Couples dotted the dance floor whilst some were ensconced in corners, getting to know each other.
“Hello beautiful”, he drawled in his smoky, melt my bones voice. He knew the effect that he had on women. They always took to him easily and he capitalized heavily on his charms. His height and well toned body never failed to draw their eyes. From his flinty grey eyes, clean shaven look that showed a well chiseled face and his short crew cut, it had all merged to radiate burnished good looks.
“Hello” she replied as she spun sideways on the high bar stool and gave him a quick once over. Her clingy short skirt had ridden up her thighs and her high boots which encased trim legs were crossed over each other.
He got an eyeful of slim and flawless thighs. As a matter of fact, she looked gorgeous from a closer view. She had a pixie face and smooth crop of shoulder length reddish blond hair, large outlined smokey eyes with thick long lashes and full bee-stung lips that shimmered from her lip gloss.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked.
“Suit yourself” she shrugged in response.
He quickly took the swivel stool beside her, perching sideways so that he can observe her some more, from a closer range.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he offered.
“If you please”, she responded.
Not too chatty, he silently observed. That suited him very well. He was not in the mood for a long chat either. He really had no desire for a “let’s get to know each other tonight kind of thing”.
His last encounter with the chatty Librarian who had practically talked his ears off before he silenced her, simply put him off talkative women.
He always homed in on the one’s that he perceived were lonely and needed someone to talk to. He was the epitome of an attentive gentleman, from the mousy teacher, to the sassy dancer, the divorced lonely curator, the stripper and so on. He had lost count of how many exactly, but between all the cities he had been in, he had left quite a good number of missing body trails.
Watching her delicate pale throat work as she downed a couple of shots of brandy, he was practically drooling and the sizzle of anticipated excitement caused his hairs to stand on ends.
He kept reaching into his denim pocket, to touch the sharp army knife ensconced in there from time to time. Each time he flexed his fingers around its smooth curved nut casing, he felt a jolt of confidence and adrenaline surge through his veins.
Her reasons for being at Cock & Bull were not divulged. She was acerbic in her responses, but for whatever reason, she obviously sought to drown her reasoning in an alcoholic binge and he obliged.
As she grew more relaxed and switched to Margarita’s, with each gulp of the pricey Margarita that raced down her throat, he grew bolder in his closeness until she was practically encased between his muscled thighs.
The drinks were done and the invitation back to his apartment was accepted. It was a quick silent drive in his plush, smoke and masculine scented ride. She sat in the warm, hugging confine of the leather car seat, and enjoyed the strumming beats of ”Eye of the Tiger”, whilst he kept running his fingers lightly over her exposed thigh.
They got back to his swanky apartment, and his whet appetite couldn’t wait to get busy, but he did not want to rush through the process. He always savored the reeling in of his victim, watching her pupils dilate in fear, the scent of blood trickling down that vulnerable neck from the first cut, the feisty struggle and the inevitable end of necrophilia.
Sometimes, he was not sure which suited him better, to asphyxiate, or the clean slice of the throat. Nonetheless, he got immense satisfaction from the startled look of surprise each of them wore in death.
His sick mind had reached it’s height of excitement and he pounced on her like a caged Tiger, menacing and ready to desecrate her body.
Her mind kicked into action. Her legs lifted, jackknifing from the knee in a hitch kick. Her arms ranged out to the sides and contracted to cuddle her body. In a flash, she pulled out a knife that was tucked into her boots and thrust, with all her might, slicing from navel up. He was stupefied in shock. Her father had taught her well.
She had been born a circus gypsy, with a knife throwing father, and a mother that she hardly knew. From as little as six years, she had struggled on her own, moving from town to town on roadshows with her dad and the circus team that practically raised her and taught her all the tricks they knew. Her deceptive small stature always led some misguided men to underestimate her strength which had been built from years of balancing on wires and jumping hoops.
Unfortunately, years back, she had been too young, too naive, too trusting and too vulnerable to stop the abuse she had suffered in the hands of some slick buffoons who felt it was fun to ambush and have their way with a teenage ‘white trash’ as they had called her. But never again, she vowed, never again.
She stepped over his crumpled body as he lay gasping and clutching his spilled guts, and made off with his valuable belongings, fat wallet and purring Audi listening to the Eye of the Tiger.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Who stalked who? You might care to ask.
a cooking pot and twisted tales 