Mostly Murder (17 page)

Malice and the professional killer came off their life on the sea and settled back into their prior lives in New Orleans and the deep bayous. They rarely met except at the Maze of Terror, which he was reinforcing now with his new knowledge of welding that he'd perfected through his shipboard duties, in anticipation of some scary fun and games. He did find a job, the perfect vocation for someone who intended to break the law in truly horrific ways. So he worked diligently there, made a good impression, and pretended that he forgave his old girlfriend and his former friend for betraying him. But he hadn't. More than anything in his life, he wanted to kill them. He wanted to see the lifeblood leak slowly out of their veins. Indeed, he would kill them. All he had to do was bide his time, plan carefully, and do the deed so well that he would never get caught. The professional killer had taught him well, indeed.

Then the day came when he got the perfect opportunity. One sunny, clear day, during Mardi Gras, he followed his two coveted victims out to a remote bayou. They were fishing there and having a picnic with their two children. They were laughing and playing games, having a good time celebrating their little girl's birthday. He watched the happy little family, thinking it should have been his family, his children, his life, damn them all to hell. But it wasn't his. He had no family and never had. Their children were getting older now, the boy almost twelve and the girl a little younger. So he hid himself in the bushes with his serpent Mardi Gras mask in place and watched and waited for the exact right moment.

When the children moved up the bank toward his hiding place, he waited until they were out of sight of their parents, then moved quickly. When the boy entered the woods, looking for a place to dig worms, he grabbed him and subdued him. It only took seconds. Then he taped his hands and feet and mouth and went after the little girl, still sitting on the bank with her fishing pole, but well out of sight of her parents. She was even easier, freezing in terror when he ran at her. She didn't make a peep. It all happened within a minute or two, and he taped her up securely, and then left them hidden there in the bushes. He took off the mask and headed down the bank toward the two people who had filled his dreams with visions of bloody murder every night for months on end.

His old girlfriend and her rotten husband got up from the blanket when they saw him. She was straightening her clothes, embarrassed he'd found them making out. His blood ran cold with fury. They waved at him, and he smiled and waved back. He had played his part well; they didn't know how much he hated their guts. They thought he was still their friend. That was the way to murder people: make them think you loved them, disarm them with kindness, and then cut their throats. But Malice knew her husband always carried a weapon so he had to be careful. When he got right up to them, he glanced around and found the bayou still deserted. Then he pulled the .45 out of his coat pocket and fired a slug point-blank into the man's forehead. Bam, you're dead. His only true love screamed and tried to run away, but he caught her easily and held her tightly against his chest. She was struggling hard, but he forced a brutal good-bye kiss on her mouth as he had daydreamed of doing for years and years and years, and then he pressed the gun against her breast and fired. She fell backwards, writhing and groaning in agony, and he stood above her and told her how much he loved her and how much he had always loved her. Then he squatted down beside her and fired a bullet into her forehead to end her suffering.

Heartbroken, now that she was gone forever, that he'd never see her again, he sat on his heels, watched her bleed out, and wept hard for a while. Once Malice regained his composure, he took time to remove the dead man's gun from the holster he wore at the small of his back and then arranged the body in the exact position in which Malice wanted it to be found. A nice little suicide/murder scenario was always a nice touch, and something the police usually took at face value. After he was satisfied with every detail, he walked back to where he'd left the dead woman's two beautiful children. He hated her boy the most. When he returned from the Merchant Marine, he had found out the real reason his true love had never come back to him. She had gotten knocked up with his best friend's baby, the boy who was lying limp and frightened at his feet. If that hadn't happened, she would have come back to him, and they would've eventually married. He knew she would have. It was the kid's fault, and he needed to suffer for what he'd done. Suffer greatly, and so did the little girl.

Squatting down, he took the hand towel and chloroform out of his knapsack, saturated the towel, and pressed it over the little girl's face. It didn't take long. When she was unconscious, he picked her up. She was as light as a feather, and he carried her quickly to his boat, still bound and gagged. Then he went back for the boy. He was big and strong for his age, like his father had been as a kid, so he chloroformed him until he lay limp and unmoving, and then he carried him down to the bank and threw him into the bottom of the boat with his sister.

Climbing into the stern, he headed straight for the deserted old house where his murder mentor was staying. The Maze of Terror wasn't quite finished yet. They might get away from him out there, but not in the cellar of his fellow assassin. So, finally, at long last, he had his own helpless little victims to torment. Victims that he really detested for what their parents had done to him. He couldn't wait to start the fun and games.