Genital Grinder

he wasn’t already.

He thought of Carrie and smashed his hand against the dashboard. She knew what was going on . . . she was in on this. It was some kind of game. Why else would she have such a flippant attitude when he confronted her?

He didn’t get out of the car for quite some time.

VII.

Two things of interest happened the next day. Someone rented Taste of Death 6: To the Gory End. He wanted to open up to the guy about what he’d been seeing around town, but the girls had been right there, sharing a disapproving look when they noticed the title of the video. Why don’t you dumb twats go lez out in the tanning room? he wanted to say, but the idea caught his fancy and he found himself embellishing the concept in his mind periodically for the next three hours. He never entirely forgot about the customer, though, and when he showed up later in the afternoon, Gabriel felt a rush of excitement.

He knows . . . he’s seeing all the victims around town now, too. He has to see the ninth one now, with Carrie’s big scene.

Renee was on her lunch break and Carrie was back in the bathroom. He couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity. But it was nothing like that.

The customer struggled to find the adequate words. “Uh, yeah, I rented this, like … earlier today?”

“I remember,” Gabriel said. The lack of urgency (and articulation) immediately diminished his expectations. It couldn’t possibly be what he had hoped. The guy would have practically walked through plate glass and barely noticed it if he’d really seen.

“Right, okay . . . uh, yeah, the tape is, like, blank and stuff.”

“Blank?” Gabriel echoed.

“Yeah . . . and stuff? It’s all, like, static.”

And stuff. Yeah, I know.

He’d been switching them out for the weeks leading up to the release of part 9. They had all played just fine. Some had more tracking issues than others, but they all worked.

“Sorry about that . . . we’ll see if we can fix it. Or do you want to exchange it for something else?”

The guy looked over his shoulder, and Gabriel briefly wondered if he thought he was being watched. Maybe this was all a charade to deflect suspicion.

Satisfied by what he saw, the customer turned around and quietly asked, “Is, uh, Gaping Anus back in stock?”

Gabriel sighed. “The new one, the 24th? No. Not yet.”

“Twenty-three, then?” he asked hopefully.

Descending order of availability finally made it all right with volume number nineteen, if a bit begrudgingly (the 4-hour “butt banging bonanzas” didn’t start until volume twenty, so “2-1/2 hours of butt stuffing madness” would have to suffice . . . and as obsessed as the customer seemed with the concept of “stuff,” he couldn’t have been too awfully disappointed). He also put himself on the reserve list for a Lolita Ream movie after confirming Gabriel’s work schedule.

Much later, the idea of the blanked video cassette seemed ominous to Gabriel. Yeah, maybe the guy wanted Gaping Anus all along and just didn’t want to bring it to the counter with Carrie and Renee standing around, although why not get something a little less off-putting if you’re worried what some hot girls might think of your choice? Gabriel obviously wasn’t going to test the movie out here at work, though. He took it home, unsurprised in the least to discover it played just fine, arguably with even less tracking interference than the volumes before and after it.

The other significant thing was that he went back to the Chosen Few Pictures webpage, and found a significant change.

Taste of Death 9 had been pushed back to August 27th. This update was made today, the 21st.

“But it already came out,” Gabriel said, dumbfounded.

VIII.

It being Thursday, Gabriel, Renee, and Carrie were at Movie Heaven until 9:30 as the closing shift. Renee’s mother picked her up just as the trio exited (she had not-so-politely declined a ride with him in the beginning, and he’d never offered again).

And then there were two, he thought.

He locked the doors to Movie Heaven, trying to hurry. He heard Carrie’s rushed footsteps, her sandals thwacking on the asphalt as she hurried to her car.

Must be my winning personality.

The lock and keys fought him, and Carrie’s car door was slamming shut even as he turned around. It enraged him, even though he knew she wouldn’t be going very far. When her car flooded, she slammed a fist across her steering wheel.

He thrust his hands in his pockets and began shuffling over to his car, singing an old Doors song, “Strange Days,” to himself. He threw a cursory glance around the lot. The other stores in the shopping center closed up at 9:00. There was just one other car in the lot besides Carrie’s, and unfortunately for her it was his.

Her hood popped up, and Carrie reluctantly slid out of her car, looking at Gabriel out of the corner of her eye. He knew what was going to happen now; what had to happen.

“Don’t start with me,” she warned as he closed in. “Just please tell me you know something about cars.”

“Naturally,” he said. He couldn’t so much as replenish windshield wiper fluid; that’s what his dad was for. He smiled at Carrie disarmingly, idly wondering if the patron from yesterday really planned to watch The Ten Commandments.

Carrie adjusted the stand to keep the hood propped, thus eclipsing the extent of Gabriel’s automotive know- how.

“Any idea what’s wrong?” he asked, trying not to laugh.

“I wouldn’t ask for your help if I did,” she answered in singsong.

“Well, I’m a Samaritan. I’d have helped anyway.” He leaned under the hood, feeling her spiteful look. He yanked something at random, and was rewarded when it slid out. “Hey, I might have found something. This thing here is loose.” He held it up for her inspection.

Carrie sighed with a bonus eye roll, even though Renee wasn’t around to enjoy it. “That thing tells how much oil is in the car.” She snatched it away from him and guided it back into its proper place, mouthing a stream of obscenities which he gathered weren’t in high praise of his character.

She hunched forward, brushing her fingers with her thumbs to wipe off grease. Gabriel enjoyed the rear view as he cracked his knuckles.

“You should have called Triple A,” he said, too quietly for her to hear.

“Hey,” Carrie said excitedly. “This wire isn’t—”

He smashed the safety bar with the palm of his hand, dislodging it. The hood slumped down, striking Carrie across the back. It wasn’t much, just enough to stun her. It was all he needed. He hoisted the hood up and slammed it back down, increasing his momentum by jumping. She sank to her knees. She made an effort to slide out of harm’s way, but he blocked her off and reaped some well-earned frottage as he delivered six more compacting blows in rapid succession The last few came down on the back of her neck, eliciting tiny pops as vertebrae cracked.

As the script called for, Gabriel took a few steps back and observed the scene. Carrie was sprawled in front of the car now, arms jutting out like broken wings. Motionless.

Gabriel looked back at Movie Heaven. He thought he saw a red light in the darkness, like the one which glowed on his father’s video camera when it recorded. He couldn’t see clearly, but he didn’t have to. The article in the paper this morning had told him what was going on, the simple headline reading BARTOK WOMAN KILLED IN