Careful to avoid the blood pool, he pads over to the closet and quickly dresses. On his cell phone, he presses 3 on speed dial.
'I've got another one.'
Chuckles on the other end. 'Busy little bee, aren't you?'
'Come get her.'
'I'm already out the door.'
He stands in the corner. Staring at the mess. Memorizing it.
Twenty minutes later, there's a knock.
'Who the hell is it?'
'The password is psycho. Open up.'
He grins, letting Derrick inside. The man is short, compact, with acne scars on his chubby cheeks and a lazy eye that always looks to the left.
Derrick views the room and whistles.
'Damn! This is some piece of work. I'm going to need a shovel to clean this up.'
'So?' He hands Derrick fifty dollars. 'Go buy a shovel.'
'Be right back, tiger.'
In half an hour, Derrick returns. He wheels in the cart, the body bag resting on top.
'I thought you went to get a shovel.'
'It's in the bag.'
Derrick gets to work, rolling up the body and the mess in the plastic tarps lining the floor.
'Boy, you really did a number on her,' Derrick says. 'Where's her heart?'
The killer belches, pounds his chest.
Derrick laughs. 'Talk about having heartburn.'
The joke is lost on him. He's becoming anxious. Now that the rage has passed, he has to make sure everything goes according to plan.
'How are you going to dispose of her?'
'This one I think I'll cremate. I can't risk one of my famous two-for-one specials. The casket would leak.'
'I want these to be found at the morgue, same as before.'
The killer hands him a plastic bag.
'Ears? That's a riot.' Derrick brings the bag to his mouth and yells, 'Hello! Can you hear me?'
Idiot. But beggars can't be choosers.
'Leave the earrings on. They're important.'
'No problem. These will be easier to sneak in than those arms. Hell, I could keep them in my pocket.'
'Her things are in the bathroom. Take what you want. There's a grand in her purse.'
'Righto, chief.'
The cleanup continues for another fifteen minutes. The body and bloody tarps are zipped up in the bag.
'I'll line the room with new plastic sometime next week.'
'Sooner.'
'Sooner? You got the itch again already?'
'Not yet. But it could come back.'
Derrick didn't know about the headaches. He thought he was dealing with a run-of-the-mill sex killer.
'Damn. I'm glad I'm not a good-looking chick with you loose in this city.'
That won't save you. When the time comes, I'll gut you as well.
They leave the room, Derrick pushing the cart, the killer walking alongside. A few liquor-stained eyes peek at them, then quickly turn away. Derrick's van is parked in the alley, behind the killer's car. He pushes the cart into the rear, spring-loaded legs collapsing as he eases it in.
'Hey, you think, maybe, next time you do one of these women . . .'
'You want to watch?'
Derrick's face lights up. 'Yeah! I mean, I'm no stranger to this shit. I'm not as, uh, extreme, as you are. But I've done things.'
You pimple-faced freak. I know about the things you've done. You make my stomach turn.
'We'll see. A tag-team match might be fun.'
