No one will state the obvious: The bitch was too ugly to fit the pattern! Cassandra, Jenny, Aurora, and Mariangela were gorgeousness and gorgeosity. Hilary was what happened when you pissed in a test-tube. She was (and I do mean past tense) one of those overweight women whose pounds congregate in one area—in her case, the ass. It looked like someone threw a blanket over a monster truck tire.
You wouldn’t insult your dog by feeding him the remains. Your basement-bound sex slaves, on the other hand . . .
You never know what might develop when you drop off some film and leave your address.
And yeah, I admit it . . . I took “the plunge” in her, too. But Carl did it first. You take that kind of risk, it seems a crying shame not to get the most out of your effort.
I watched Katy through her window tonight. I thought she was going to undress, but the phone rang. I have to be completely silent during the summer, because she leaves her window up. Even the sound of a zipper might draw her attention, but that’s part of the thrill.
The phone call was for her. A new boyfriend, apparently. That was rather depressing. I can’t help thinking that if I was the one she was so happy to hear from, I wouldn’t need a basement of women to satisfy me.
Loneliness is vastly underrated.
I did my thing anyway, quietly as possible. They were still going on when I left. Then I went to buy a pair of pliers before the store closed.
We’re going through two and three rolls of film a day at Owens’. I develop film for less than six bucks an hour for six to eight hours, then I go to his house and do it for free for a couple more. The upside is that I am already halfway through Binder Number Six.
Stock tip: Buy as many shares of Vaseline as you can.
Owens is pissing me off.
Remember what I said about my goals? That’s plural. Katy was at least the second reason I got involved in all of this. It’s been my plan to bring her to Owens’ from the beginning—or better yet, to have Owens bring her there himself. He’s got a great track record, six for six all told. Katy has everything but a COME THROUGH MY WINDOW, ABDUCT ME AND RAPE ME sign on her house. It’d be nothing for him to do it.
But he won’t.
“It’s not the right time,” he said.
“What are you waiting for, a full moon?” I shouted.
“It’s just not the right time,” he said again.
So I got to thinking. It’d be nothing for him to creep through Katy’s window and take her. It wouldn’t be anything for me, either, would it? This time we’ll be collaborating on a chemistry project—I’ll administer the chloroform, she’ll succumb. Then I’ll bring her back to Owens’.
Owens won’t object, because Owens won’t be around anymore. I’ll get the hang of this kidnapping thing, and I won’t need him. I can have ALL the women to myself, with no more of those disgusted looks when I do as I please with Jenny. At least not from him, anyway.
No more sloppy seconds, and I get the van AND the house. You couldn’t ask for a better divorce.
I’ve never kept a journal before either. I guess you’ve heard about me, but we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Carl Owens. I picked up this nifty little journal from Alex.
You’ve probably figured out that I still have my harem.
I noticed that Alex didn’t care to leave out the truth whenever it suited him. I DID recognize him when he first showed up on my doorstep—from the papers. He was Jenny MacColl’s brother (and I do mean past tense). He forgot to mention that, didn’t he? He sure didn’t seem like the kind of guy to be ashamed of anything, but I guess you never really know some people. For example, I didn’t know that he wanted to kill me and take over my congregation. Personally I was just getting sick of him, and I thought I’d take my chances with finding all the evidence he had against me. He was dead to the world whenever he got going with Jenny . . . only this time he stayed that way.
His mother isn’t exactly my type, but it’ll be good to have some meat on stand-by when they get done with Hilary Stiglitz. I think I’ll hold onto this for awhile. Mrs. MacColl might be interested in reading it.
It just so happens that I have some empty shackles between Aurora Fenech and Jenny. I guess the time is right for Katy Hindley. Elvin Avenue, wasn’t it?
I.
Gabriel saw the dead man on his way home from the video store.
He’d been thinking about the shift at Movie Heaven as he drove. Carrie and Renee had both been there, the teen pregnancies waiting to happen. And what were they wearing on a sizzling August day? As little as the law allowed. Gabriel spent the five and a half hours playing pocket pool. The clock couldn’t pass slowly enough to suit him on days like this. He fully expected them to show up in
A stack of porno movies clattered on the passenger seat. He was allowed to bring them home, but he’d waited for Renee to take someone to the tanning bed and Carrie to restock some new releases before he’d made his move. If he had any chance of going out with either of them—and the past three months had provided precious little hope of
It all made for a bitter obsession. Working with the hot little sirens transported him through a time wrap right back into high school, as if there were a worm hole at the check-out counter of Movie Heaven. It hadn’t been long ago at all, so his memories of countless young things in skin-tight skirts, halter tops, blouses tied at the mid- riff, shorts barely longer than their underwear, and open-toed sandals were vivid. He couldn’t talk to them then; his tongue became like the knots in their blouses.
What ingenious things had he said to Carrie and Renee today? “Hi.” “I’m going on break.” “Could you hand me that?” “Well, see you tomorrow.”
Yeah, a real mystery that he hadn’t scored with either one of them or—as he always daydreamed—
