Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Night on the Town - Body Count 89

After learning of Detective Black's domestic misfortunes I found myself filled with a certain sense of elation. Secure in my confidence that I will no longer be under the scrutiny of law enforcement, I decided to have an evening out yesterday to celebrate. I thought of calling Candace for supper and maybe an evening together but decided against it. While I was consumed with a certain yearning it was not the kind of lust she can satisfy, for the moment anyway. I was in the mood for Mexican. That little cantina by the abandoned storefront sounded ideal. Arriving just past eight, the dinner crowd was starting to die off but there were still a fair amount of cattle stuffing their faces. The bar area had a good size group, chugging margaritas and beer while screaming at the soccer match on the television. I sat at a small table near the entrance facing the bar. My server brought me a bowl of tortilla chips and introduced herself as Lupe. In my most relaxed "human mask" I struck up a brief conversation with her. She was a young girl, probably 19 or 20. She spoke in a light, cheerful tone. Her lack of an accent made me think she was born here or at least migrated at an early age. She filled out her outfit very well with a toned, supple body. She was just what I was looking for. Unfortunately, being that it's a small family owned restaurant the peering eyes of her overprotective kin zeroed in on me. The bartender, a brother I surmised, stared daggers at me in between filling glasses and shouting at the television. I caught a few disapproving glares from the portly manager, probably her father. Quickly pushing Lupe from my mind I enjoyed my dinner and feigned half interest in the soccer match. As the game drew to a close most of the patrons began to disperse. I followed them out the door taking note of the particularly intoxicated ones. A group started to make their way towards the train, staggering and stumbling along the way. Much like a lion, I picked off the slowest of the herd. She was a mature woman of maybe 45. She still had a youthful look about her but she drank like she had been beaten down by life once too often. As she struggled along the uneven sidewalk it was obvious that her motor skills were severely compromised. From the shadows I watched her fall farther and farther from the rest of the pack. After a few blocks she was all but deserted. Emerging from the shadows I quickly grabbed her and dragged her into on of the vacant buildings that surrounded us. Working in the pale moonlight it was hard to maintain my usual finesse. Things quickly spiraled out of hand as she vainly struggled in her drunken stupor. Growing tired of the game, I slit her throat. Not deep enough to kill, but deep enough to scare her into abandoning her feeble attempts at defending herself. While she frantically covered her throat in a futile effort to stop the blood flow I plunged my blade forcefully into her abdomen, reveling in the sickening gurgle that had become her breath. I stabbed her a few more times until she was nothing more than a spasming piece of meat, writhing on the floor in agony. I noted her eyes were full of pain and the obvious hatred directed at me, but there was something else. She didn't exhibit any fear. There was almost a look of what I can only describe as joy. I contemplated the quagmire of her emotions while I cleaned up and headed towards the train. These cattle do still manage to surprise me from time to time.

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