The officer chuckled. “I suppose. My name’s Officer Penske. Take my card. Let me know if you need anything. I’m up for a promotion soon and may have a shot at bigger opportunities than routine stops before too long. My gut’s telling me you could use a little help. You being harassed? Got a boss committing fraud? What’s going on? You can trust me.”
“No. No. Nothing like that. I’m fine, officer. Thanks for checking. Have a good night, and thanks for your service to the community. We need more dedicated guys like you.” Chris waved at him with the wrong hand, dropping the rag he used on Creensteen onto the ground. He cursed under his breath.
Way to go, idiot.
Penske looked at the rag and back up at Chris.
“Spilled the coffee on the dash, huh?”
“Happens to the best of us on the night shift. Take it easy, guy.”
Man. That was a close call. I’ve got to get back to Dale quick before this stuff wears off.
Officer Penske drove away as Chris wiped the sweat from his forehead and climbed out of the vehicle to retrieve the soaked chloroform rag. Waiting until the cruiser’s taillights were no longer in sight, he shut the Town Car’s headlights off and drove back to Riverton Financial. Approaching the Prelude, he pulled Creensteen out and dropped him into the trunk.
Chris drove several blocks and drove into the Creepy Nights lot.
Hope the night shift crew doesn’t see me. Dale’s going to wake up any minute.
He pulled toward the back of the lot near the storage building as Creeper Joe’s glowing eyes glared at him.
He climbed out of the car, walking toward Joe.
“Well, I’ll be,” Joe said. “Chris Wilkerson is coming through in the clutch. Would you like to shed a tear with me? Our first capture’s kind of special, isn’t it?”
Chris scoffed. “He’s in the trunk. You can have him.”
“Alright, alright,” Joe said. “I’ll help you this time, but there’s fifty-three more. Don’t get too cozy. I’ll bring you some more names and locations tomorrow. That wasn’t so hard, was it? Trouble is, Creensteen was easy… Easier than a floozy in a red-light district. It’s going to get a little harder, but so will you. It becomes impersonal, and before too long, it’s just a job. ‘Got to pay the mortgage,’ right? Heh-heh.”
“You freak,” Chris said. “I should kill you now while I have the chance.”
“No. No. We had a deal. You’ve got to deliver, or I’ll slit Katrina’s throat. Heh-heh. What’s it to you, anyway? Aren’t you separated? A little trouble between the sheets? What’s the dealeo?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I know. I can’t help but laugh at what a sorry sucker you are — a pathetic excuse for a man. You weren’t enough for her. Were you?”
Chris looked over his shoulder. “That’s enough. I see a cruiser on patrol. We need to break this up.”
“You do… I can disappear in the blink of an eye when I want to. I’ll take Creensteen. Ta-ta!”
Chris closed the trunk of the car and moved it toward the front of the building. The police car circled around and pulled up next to him. It was Penske again.
“What are you doing over here?” Penske called out. “Your headlights were off. Trying to hide some doobies or what? I expect that out of a teenager, but you’re like forty, right? Come on, man…”
“No, nothing like that. Just had to lock up the storage shed out back.”
“You live here or what? Isn’t this the creepy story place?”
“Yeah, it’s a side venture. Got to make ends meet. Got an apartment upstairs… the rent’s cheap.”
“You don’t have to lie to me,” Penske said. “Have a good night. Next time your gonna light up a joint, don’t do it in a dark corner with the headlights off… That’s too obvious, man. Don’t sweat it. I’m not gonna say anything.”
“I really wasn’t…”
“Whatever,” Penske said. “Take it easy. You have my card if you need anything. By the way, I like the commercials. A little makeup on your cheek bones makes you pretty.” He drove away.
Yeah. Get on out of here.
Chris walked up to the building, studying the empty lobby and the flicker of the new fluorescents.
Looking better already.
He proceeded to Level Eight to turn in for the night.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Pondering on the days ahead, CHRIS WILKERSON admired the progress and handiwork across the lower floors.
Level Seven’s under control. I’ve got better things to do. I remember learning the value of the laissez-faire management style. I’m ready to get down to my graduates. Body Horror will be fun. We’ll see who makes their way to the front of the pack.
He entered the lobby to greet his new hires, keeping introductions brief. “Good morning, welcome aboard. It’s sure to be quite the ride. Follow me to the elevator.”
They climbed on, studying one another, and remaining quiet through the ascent.
No more damn smacking. What a nightmare.
“No gum chewing in here, please, miss. Spit it in the garbage bin to our right. Here we are, Level Three, Body Horror. We’ll circle around and tour the floor and cubicles, then we’ll get going. There’s not much of a training program. We’re a seat of the pants style operation, and it’s been working well on the other floors. As you can see, it’s a sick place to be in the most artificial of ways.”
They walked around the room, each reacting a bit differently to the macabre and artificial scenery.
Break up the awkward silence, Chris.
“For inspiration… Fake blood, fingers, toes, bones — in jars, on shelves, and dangling from ceiling tiles. I even added every tool that could inflict harm from a garage — everything from lawnmowers to socket wrenches and tire irons to fence post drivers. Any questions?”
The gum chewer spoke, “I want the desk by the Northeast window. For good luck.”
“Superstitious much? What makes it any better than the rest?” one of the others asked.
“That’s enough,” Chris said. “Don’t badger each other because of eccentricities. For the record, my preferred corner
