Read The Feeder Online

Authors: Mandy White

The Feeder (8 page)

BOOK: The Feeder
13.25Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

I’d made the decision to kill Diamond Vinnie. I owed Camille that much. I made a vow to her and to myself that I would not leave LA until it was done.

The first thing I needed to do was find more suitable accommodations. I didn’t think Camille’s body had been discovered yet, but I didn’t want to be nearby when it happened. It was best if I got out of that particular neighborhood, where Camille might be recognized. Police would be asking questions and I didn’t want anyone looking in my direction.

Rather than checking into a place like the Hilton or the Marriott as I normally would have, I found a clean but modest motel called the Palms not far from the airport. I chose the place because I preferred the privacy of a room with its own entrance that didn’t require me to go past a desk clerk every time I went in and out. There were various stores and restaurants nearby, so I’d have access to whatever I needed. I still had plenty of cash on me.  I always made a point of traveling well prepared. I would refrain from using credit cards and ATMs until absolutely necessary to avoid leaving a paper trail.

I considered the option of renting a car at first but decided against it, partly because of the paper trail it would leave and also because I didn’t think it would be very useful. Since I didn’t know my way around Los Angeles I’d spend more time getting lost than I would accomplishing what I’d set out to do. One of the advantages of being near the airport was plenty of travelers frequented the motel, which had a taxi stand. There was almost always a car ready and waiting for a fare.

Once I was settled in my new accommodations, I went for lunch at a nearby restaurant. My insides still felt raw but I understood the importance of staying strong and fit for the task ahead of me. I picked up a copy of the LA Times to read while I ate. It was important to keep an eye on the news because if Camille’s body was discovered the press would most likely hear about it.

I turned to the police section and there it was, right on the first page:
Gruesome murder in local motel room
. I read the article.

It
wasn’t
Camille!

The victim was found in a room at the White Surf Motel. They didn’t divulge any details except that the male victim, a guest of the motel, had died from multiple stab wounds. The police spokesman refused to confirm whether it was the work of the notorious serial killer known as The Feeder. The spokesman, one Detective Barton, assured the public the matter was under investigation but stated that he could not divulge any further details at that time.

The article didn’t say what room the victim was in but I knew it was room 102. I also had a pretty solid hunch the victim’s throat had been slashed and he may or may not have been mutilated in some horrible way. I wondered if the guy’s nipples were still attached.

It was my fault. I had just killed another innocent person. I was the one who sent Diamond Vinnie to room 102 of the White Surf Motel in a murderous rage.

This psycho needed to be stopped.

I set about forming my strategy. I didn’t know where Diamond Vinnie was because Camille hadn’t left enough clues in her journal. I only vaguely knew what he looked like and which neighborhood he seemed to favor. I was pretty sure he was a cop, but when I called the LAPD looking for an officer named Vincent Dimone they didn’t have one. Either he wasn’t on active duty or he belonged to a different police department.

I didn’t know how to find Diamond Vinnie but I had an idea who might know. It was time to pay Camille’s old agent/boyfriend Louie a visit.

I rummaged through Camille’s suitcase, looking for something suitable to wear for her reunion with her old flame.

 

~ Chapter 11 ~

Bluie Louie

 

Blue Moon Casting was easy to find. When I arrived at 9530 Egasuas Avenue, the address listed in the phone book, I discovered that the address listed as Blue Moon’s office was actually a high-rise apartment building. It was also the same address shown on Camille’s fake driver’s license. Blue Moon’s office was apartment 946 – the uppermost penthouse suite. I took a deep breath.

Well, here goes nothing.

I buzzed the suite and a male voice answered. I was flying by the seat of my pants at that point but had nothing to lose.

“Louie,” I said, doing a perfect imitation of Camille. I looked down at my feet so the security camera wouldn’t have a clear shot of my face.

There was a pause before he spoke.

“Who’s this?”

“It’s me. We need to talk.”

“Aurora?”

“Yes.” Aurora Snow was Camille’s stage name. She’d always had a thing for fairy tale princesses.

The door buzzed and I was in. Just like that. I checked myself in the mirror while I waited for the elevator. I was getting used to seeing Camille every time I looked in the mirror but I still found it unnerving.

I’d had a tough time deciding what to wear, since Camille had mostly dresses in her suitcase. I preferred not to wear any of the dresses because they made me feel vulnerable; they were too tight and restricted my movements. She also had a fetish for lingerie. Everything she owned was either frilly and lacy or black with laces. Laces were good because they were adjustable. I had settled on a pair of black leather shorts that laced up the sides, slipped on over a pair of stockings with garter belt and a corset-style tank top. The stockings felt weird but I wanted to hide my unshaven legs. I didn’t know if knee-high stiletto boots went with stockings or not, but I wore them anyway. They were stable and more comfortable than Camille’s other pairs of shoes, which looked tight and teetery-high – impossible to walk in.

Camille had a thigh-length black raincoat in shiny patent-leather-look vinyl. It was the ideal thing to cover myself up so I wouldn’t feel so naked. It also concealed the knife sheath I wore on a belt around my waist with the knife resting in the small of my back. I doubted I would need the knife but it made me feel secure. I could reach the knife in an instant if the need to defend myself arose. I didn’t expect my visit to result in a violent confrontation. I just needed to ask Louie a few questions.

Louie’s penthouse suite occupied the entire floor. He opened the door as I stepped off the elevator.

Louie looked like a stereotypical California surfer dude in his late thirties. His face was deeply lined and tanned like well-aged leather. His salon-streaked blonde hair was moussed and styled into an intentional tousle – a flimsy attempt to conceal the advancement of male pattern baldness. He wore a colorful pair of board shorts and a floral print Hawaiian shirt, unbuttoned to reveal a well-bronzed hairy chest and the beginning bulge of a middle-aged belly. He held a tumbler of what looked like Scotch on the rocks in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other.

He looked shocked to see me, and even a bit afraid.

“Hi,” he said.

“Helloo,” I cooed, stalking past him into the apartment. I did my best to look unimpressed.

Nice fucking digs, for a pimping scumbag.

“It’s been a while.” Louie sounded awkward, shaky.

“Yes, it has. How long, exactly? I can’t even remember,” I challenged, flinging a seductive glance over my shoulder. I hid behind my hair a bit because I didn’t feel quite confident enough in my role as Camille to face him head on. Surely he would know I wasn’t her once he got a better look at me.

“I… I don’t know,” Louie stammered. “You want a drink?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, taking a cigarette from the pack on the glass coffee table. “Just give me my usual.”

I didn’t smoke but Camille had, so I wanted to complete the illusion. I lit the cigarette with a silver Zippo lighter I found on the table beside the cigarette pack. I examined the lighter for a moment as I puffed the cigarette, only pretending to inhale so I wouldn’t choke.

Nice.

It was engraved with the initials
C.L.B
. I wondered if Louie was his middle name and what the
C
stood for.

Louie handed me a tumbler full of clear liquid. I gave it a sniff. Gin and tonic.

Barf! That was Cammie’s usual?

Gin was the one type of liquor I couldn’t stand to drink, and tonic made it even worse. To me, the aftertaste of the drink tasted exactly like I’d just finished vomiting. I faked a sip, then took a puff of the cigarette to cover the flavor. I didn’t know which tasted more disgusting, since I indulged in neither.

Louie fidgeted, like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He downed his drink in a few gulps and then set the glass on the bar. He looked back at the bar, as if undecided about whether to mix another one. Finally he spoke.

“So… what brings you here?”

“Well, Louie dear,” I began, after crushing out the cigarette and setting the drink on the table, “we have some things to discuss. I have some questions, and you have the answers.” I turned to face him finally. Here was the moment of truth. Would he realize I wasn’t Camille?

He didn’t. “Like what?” he asked.

“Where can I find Diamond Vinnie?”

“What?” Louie looked dumbfounded that I would ask such a question.

“You fucking heard me.”

“What are you asking me for? You know where to find him.”

My voice deepened to a sinister growl.

“Where is that murdering fuck, Diamond Vinnie?”

My cover was blown. I could tell by his reaction he knew I wasn’t Camille. Louie’s face turned a sickly white despite his caramel California tan.

“A-Aurora? What’s wrong with you?”

Hol-ee shit!

The fucktard still thought I was Camille!

Laughing heartily, I planted my feet on the floor in a confident stance, put my hands on my hips and flung the raincoat behind me to give him a good look at my body.

I waited for his reaction. He still didn’t show any sign of realizing I wasn’t Camille.

Time to have some fun with this little puke.

“I’ve never felt better, baby! Aside from the fact that I’m now the undead, of course. I’m a vampire and I’ve come to drain your fucking blood!”

Louie might even have believed me, from the way he reacted. All that Hollywood shit must have gone to his head. He backed slowly away from me, moving toward the bar.

I took a step toward him, reaching behind my back to caress the handle of the knife. It calmed me, knowing the weapon was there even if I had no intention of using it.

I monitored Louie’s actions with a well-trained eye. A good hunter knows to always watch the body language of the prey. A cornered animal, no matter how terrified, will often lash out at its attacker in a gallant last-ditch effort to save its own life.

Louie edged behind the bar. I sensed there was something back there that he wanted. He reached but wasn’t fast enough. He was a soft, wimpy Hollywood leech and I was a skilled hunter; lean, fit and prepared. In one fluid motion I closed the distance between us, drawing my knife from its sheath as I went.

When he lunged toward me I reacted without thinking, opening his face with a single diagonal stroke of steel. He howled and clawed at his face, stumbling backward into the glass shelving behind the bar and bringing a rain of crystal shards down upon his head.

I stepped behind the bar and saw on the counter the pistol he had been trying to reach. I smiled.

Well, howdy there, good-lookin!

I stuffed the gun in the back of my waistband before advancing on Louie with my newly christened blade. I didn’t need a gun to deal with this asshole but I was sure it would come in handy later.

He cowered against the wall, trying to hold his gushing face together. I admired the impressive work I’d done with just one swipe of the knife. I had taken out one of his eyes and the flesh on the side of his face hung loosely, neatly flayed from his cheekbone. The slash continued across his nose and split the corner of his mouth opposite the missing eye.

“And now,” I said, standing before him, “I’ll ask you again. Where the fuck is Diamond Vinnie?”

“Y-you already know!” His breathed in short, shallow gasps and his hands shook like an epileptic with Parkinson’s.

“Maybe I fucking forgot!” I shouted at him. “Tell me again!”

He sputtered out the name of the place and room number, “Seymour Hotel on Esplanade. Room three-fif-fifty-nine.”

Another hotel? Don’t any of these people have proper homes?

I intended to leave Louie just like that, bleeding, blubbering and in need of a good plastic surgeon but the idiot just had to push his luck.

The cornered prey launched his last-resort attack. He grabbed my ankle, trying to pull me down to the floor. I drove the heel of my boot into his groin and he collapsed back into the corner with a pathetic mewling sound. There’s nothing quite like a stiletto heel to the nutsack when it comes to subduing an attacker.

My hand swept the blade across his throat before I even realized I was killing him.

He made a gargling noise and flailed about, kicking over several empty liquor bottles and adding to the bed of broken glass on the floor. I dashed out of the path of the crimson spray, grateful that I had chosen to wear black.

From across the room, I sang to him as I watched the life bleed out of him. “Louie Louie… hmm-hmm… you gotta go.”

I collected all of the items I had touched and disposed of any evidence of my presence in the apartment. I poured the gin and tonic down the sink and slipped the glass in my pocket, picked my lipstick-stained cigarette butt from the ashtray and pocketed the silver Zippo I’d used to light it.

“Yeahyeahyeah,” I hummed under my breath as I worked.

I went back to check on Louie, who was pretty much bled out by that point. He slumped in the corner slack-jawed, surrounded by bloody shards of glass. He had stopped trying to hold his face together. His remaining eye fixed me with a creepy unblinking stare. I didn’t know if he was seeing anything at this point or not, but I didn’t like him looking at me.

I remembered reading about how the retina or something stores a negative image of the last thing the eye sees when the body dies. I couldn’t remember if it had said how long the image lasted, but either way, I didn’t want my face on the back of his eyeball. I drove my blade into his uninjured eye socket and twisted.

BOOK: The Feeder
13.25Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Do Over by Emily Evans
What God Has For Me by Pat Simmons
Roses in June by Clare Revell
Queen of Starlight by Jessa Slade
Recaptured Dreams by Dell, Justine