Frenzy

and in the bound and screaming punishments and in the awful, ah, the vileness of it, in the commission of obscene acts frozen by a camera, professionally mounted and matted and framed under glass.

He whispered to the stocky, balding man seated on the long sofa, 'I'd like to slice that filthy head off and shit down your neck hole, you —' He really couldn't think of anything foul enough to call him. He'd run out of words. He moved forward and kicked the man in the stomach, being very careful, kicking him as precisely as he could so as not to allow his emotions to run unchecked. He knew if he let loose now it'd all be over in thirty seconds, and that would be a shame. That would defeat everything he'd been working for. The whole point was to make the scum crawl. To drag their tortures out and turn some of the suffering back around in their direction.

The one picture of the two little girls kept nagging at him, and against his judgment he let himself steal another glance at it. One little child about nine, ten years old, doing something to another one. The one on the receiving end reminded him of Tiff in a favorite scrapbook shot, and just for a few seconds his rage bubbled over beyond the rim of control and he kicked Blue Kriegal about twenty times as hard as he could. He had to get him out of there or he'd waste him. Spain didn't even bind his hands. He had such disdain for him he just went out and popped the trunk, came back and rolled the unconscious body onto a small throw rug and dragged Kriegal out past the body of his slain companion, and unceremoniously horsed the dead-weight into the car.

William Kriegal awoke in darkness and in intense pain and fright, but then the trauma took him under and he woke up much later with that choking sensation you get from smelling salts, but when he tried to pull his face away from the gagging spirits he could not move.

'Aaaaaaaaaa, pleeeeease,' he begged the man snarling into his face.

'Good morning. Did you sleep well?' He capped the small bottle.

'Jesus, buddy, I'll give you anything please don't —'

'Blue, Blue, BLUE, shut your asshole a second. My name is Frank Spain. Did you ever hear of me?' he asked pleasantly.

'Uh —' The man's brain was going a mile a minute. Where the fuck was he and how was he going to get out of this one?

'You're not feeling so hot, right?'

'Huh uh.' He felt like he was going to go under again.

The man said, 'I'm going to give you something to make you feel better, okay? My name's Frank Spain. But you can call me Mr. Spanhower. Say, Hello, Mr. Spanhower.'

''Lo, Mr. Spanhower.'

'Good.'

'Please, Mr. Span —'

'Now, Blue. See what I've got for you. Vitamins,' he said brightly. 'This'll put some lead in your pencil.' Kriegal flinched when he saw the hypodermic needle.

'Oh, hey — Blue, don't sweat this. This is just something to get you feeling in the pink again.' He shot a minute amount of fluid into the air, 'Don't want to shoot an air bubble into your bloodstream and kill you, for heaven's sake.' Spain deftly found a vein in Kriegal's meaty arm and plunged the spike in.

'Mmmm.' The man made an involuntary fear noise as Spain depressed the syringe.

'Yes. I understand. Blue. Nothing is quite as potent as tetrodotoxin. Especially this little mix. Hot as the Orinoco Basin, baby. Quirky as a Shuar poultice. Heavy-duty as voooooooodooooooooooooo,' he said, playing with the man.

'Please, listen mister, I don't know how come you're doin this, but I got over two hundred thousand in a —'

Spain shut him up by simply shoving his palm over the man's mouth. 'Hmm-ummm. No talking. Just take it easy. You're going to need all your strength. Don't guess you're hip to brugmansia? Datura? Zombie's cucumber? Jeez, Blue, what am I going to do with you? Ain't you gotcher ethnobotani-cal, ophiological shit together? Well? Speak up, man. Cat got your tongue?'

'Jesus. Please.'

'Oh, relax. I was just jivin' witcha' about the zombie stuff. That's just plain old gasoline. But Blue, I didn't scrimp. It's PREMIUM. Does it smart a little, Blue?' Suddenly he lost the grip on his control and started screaming 'DIE DIE DIE YOU PIECE OF vile shit!' He was screaming into the face of the man as he picked up the stolen trocar, which is a sharp thing embalmers use to insert a cannula into the torso of a cadaver to drain the body cavity, and drove it again and again into the living, screaming body of Blue Kriegal.

'I had all these plans for us, Blue,' he sighed, calming down. 'But I don't think we're going to be able to keep you around long enough to turn you into a zombie, damn it. I believe you're fucking dead. Blue. What do you say — eh?' His voice was loud in the small enclosure, as he watched the lye down in the drainage culvert take the dark, red whirlpool. He stood there for a long time, staring with cold eyes, transfixed, as if awaiting further word from the high oracle.

And that night in his sleep, Anubis, jackal-headed god of the ancients. Protector of Graveyards, presided over the Weighing of the Heart at the Last Judgment Rites.

The distinguished-looking man locked his study door and walked over and sat down behind the massive desk. He bent over and did something to one of the legs and the front of what appeared to be the desk leg came off in his hand. He reached in and took out an instrument with red and black telephone receivers on it. He pressed a button, a light came on, and he placed the red phone in the central cradle section and picked up the black phone and dialed.

'Yeah .... I wanna order a sit-down. The whole council. Emergency session.' He barked a hard response back into the phone. 'I know that, for fucking shit's sake. I'm not an idiot. Listen. All the dons. I don't care if it's fucking Apalachin all over again I want reps from ALL the fuckin' families. We got a war on our hands and it ain't what everybody thinks. I know who's behind all this shit. It could only be one man.' He let air out in a sigh of anger and frustration.

'Now listen. Here's what I want. I want you to get a crew . . . No, a crew, shit, I want a fuckin' PLATOON of soldiers. I'm going to give you an address in Ladue, Missouri ...'

St. Louis Mob Figure Charged In Child-abuse Case Missing St. Louis, Mo. Missouri News Service Wire, Eichord read, skipping M08-44-29173301 and reading,

A one-time foster parent for the Missouri Division of Family Services, recently targeted in a federal investigation of St. Louis area mob activities, was charged with abuse in two counties after police found what was described as 'thousands of porno photos and films involving children.' The evidence was confiscated at his home in Jefferson County.

William 'Blue' Kriegal, 41, of the 12000 block of DeSoto, was charged Tuesday with six felony counts of child abuse in Warren County, and two counts in Jefferson County. He was released after posting $75,000 bond, authorities said, and is believed to have fled.

Police have been searching for Kriegal since Wednesday, and a warrant has been issued for unlawful flight to avoid prosecution. Kriegal's family declined all comment.

Kriegal was targeted as a 'principal suspect' in a federal investigation centering on the alleged 'crime family' of Salvatore Dagatina and other unnamed individuals who are believed by authorities to control the child- pornography and narcotics rackets in the Midwest, according to Assistant Jefferson County Prosecutor Kenneth Wales.

'We're still developing pictures, and establishing venue, in addition to statutes of limitations,' Wales said at the time of the child-abuse charges, 'as Missouri has a three-year limit for prosecuting this type of a case.'

Kriegal was a certified foster parent for the Division of Family Services at one time, and was responsible for the care of several children ranging in age from nine to thirteen in the Columbia, Missouri, area, according to Melinda Zook, the agency's deputy director. She refused to discuss Kriegal's record as a foster parent.

Zook said that prospective foster parents were always investigated as thoroughly as possible but she