The fat slug jumps as I say his name, dropping his basket of washing into the filthy laundry room floor. He scrambles to pick it up, all those towels and socks full of his nightly muck.
I stroll around the room before popping up onto the bench. “It’s time David. Time you killed me another pretty young thing.” David shoves his washing into a machine ignoring me. I wait as he fumbles for coins. “David?”
“I heard you!” He snaps as he slams the door shut.
“It’s been two months since you killed for me,” I remind him. “Nearly three actually.”
“I’ve been busy,” he replies.
“So you say,”
“I started another fire,” he adds. I couldn’t care less. Fires are indiscriminate killers, no flair, nothing personal. I’ve tried to explain that to him but he’s a f^%# retard!
“You should head into Flushing; there are lots there for you to kill. Plenty of cover.”
David nods “Okay.”
I don’t believe his tone, nor his posture. “You want me to come over there?”
“No!” he exclaims shunting back involuntarily banging into the dryers. “Flushing, okay.”
“Tonight.” I get off the bench and leave him to his own devices.
“David?” I call through the mail slot of the door. “DAVID!”
This time I nearly jump out of my skin as he startles me from behind. He looks happy and tired. “Well?”
“I’m not sure,” he says as he pushes past me to unlock his door.
I clench my teeth, stopping myself from dragging him by the back of the collar and tossing him down the stairwell. “You better start explaining David.”
“There was a couple in a car. I shot them.”
“So they’re dead?”
David shrugs “I’m not sure. I fired, the window exploded. The car drove off.”
I launch across the room hitting David in the chest and sending him to the floor. He begins to cry as he curls into a ball. “IF THEY DROVE AWAY DAVID, IT MEANS THEY’RE NOT DEAD! DEAD PEOPLE DON’T DRIVE DAVID! DO THEY?”
“No, no, no,” he whimpers as he lies at my feet.
“YOU ARE A CONSTANT DISAPOINTMENT DAVID!”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he whimpers pawing at the ground like he’s trying to get under the carpet to hide. Easier to toss this ^%$& off the balcony and into the street.
“You’re going to make this right,” I tell him. “Aren’t you David?”
“Yes,” he blubbers into the floor.
I drop the newspaper at the top of the stairs as David trudges up them. “You shot the daughter of a police officer, you stupid fat maggot! Are you trying to f&^% this all up?”
David stops on the stairs and looks at me like a scolded child not knowing whether to flee or cry or scream. He’s been nothing but useless.
“Tonight, you are going to go out and find two girls and you’re going to shoot them until they are dead!” I bundle down the stairs past him nearly knocking him off his feet.
“I did it! I did it! I did it!” David chants as he lets me into his apartment. I look at him sceptically due to his track record.
“Tell me everything,” I take a seat on his couch. David paces the room with a spring in his step before pausing and scribbling on the wall with a pen. “David?”
“Sorry, sorry, got to get it out,” he rambles as he jots down something on the wall I can’t quite make out. “I wore my fatigues so I’d blend in. I wanted to go back to Flushing but I didn’t. I found them on the porch. I walked up and said ‘Can you tell me how to get’ and then I shot her in the neck blam! And the other in the back blam! I know how you wanted me to make sure so I fired again blam! And again blam! And again blam! Then I ran.”
The little puke may have gotten something right for once. “Good boy David, good boy. Now go to the store and buy a paper and get some bullets.”
“Yes Harvey,” he says and hastily leaves leaving me alone in his apartment. I finally see the walls, covered in graffiti, drawings and scribbles from someone who belongs in a cage or the ground. He’s drawn an odd symbol over and over; an X with a male and female sign, a cross and the letter S under it. A small section of wall rant gets my attention.
“Behind our house some rest. Mostly young- raped and slaughtered – their blood drained, now bones,” Its poetry, beautiful sick poetry that warms my heart. Seems I’ve got some reading to do.
I drop in on David periodically, to keep him from doing something stupid and to read his ode of madness across the walls. I often don’t say anything except “Kill!” As we move into another year I remind the fat bastard that I need him to kill for me, not paralyse like he did with those bitches he shot at close range; one in a wheelchair the other with a nasty neck scar. How he managed to f%$& that up don’t know! I might send him out to get an M-16! The door unlocks making me lose my place on the wall.
“Working la…” I pause as I can smell gunpowder. “Where have you been David?”
“I did! I got her!” He smiles and claps his hands with glee. “They were in their car and I let rip blam! Blam! Blam! Windows shattered! They drove aw…”
“If they drove away David,” I hiss “Then they’re NOT DEAD ARE THEY?!”
He jumps in fright at my yelling but keeps talking. “I followed the car. They got to the hosp…”
“David…” I can feel the saliva building in my mouth and my muscles tensing with rage.
“SHE DIED! SHE DIED! SHE DIED!” he shrieks sending I’m about to kill him. “I found out she died in hospital. Two shots to the brain. Two shots. She died, she d…”
“And the other one?” I ask. “You said they, so there was two at least. What happened to them?”
David looked at the floor “I don’t know. But she died.”
“Good,” I tell him “But not good enough. You need to start getting better or…”
He nods and scampers away to his bedroom, the weak maggot.
“Police. Say they are...looking for several...suss, suss, suspects,” David reads from the New York Post like a retarded child. He looks at me like he wants praise; I snort causing him to cower.
“You need to kill again,” I tell David.
“I’ll go hunting tonight,” he replies. “After work.”
“Ah, no!” I correct him. “Now. Today. Right now.”
“B-but, but, I usually, um, when the sun goes down,” he stammers.
I glare right at him. “Did I say now or when the sun goes down?”
I smile. “Get your gun and go and kill me someone. It’ll take you an hour to get to Queens…” I look up at the clock “You have until eight o’clock. Call here when it’s done.”
David slowly gets up. I can see he wants to turn the gun on me. He won’t but his mind is like an open book to me, stupid animal! I eyeball him almost daring him but he simply gets up, heading for the door.
“Oh David,” I call making him stop in the doorway. “When you get home we’re going to write down all your poetry onto paper, it’s too good not to share with the world.”
To be continued...
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