8. Santa
Chapter 8
Santa
I pull into the parking lot down the street from the strip club. The soft classic rock song I was listening to ends, and the radio personality returns with a solemn voice that I don’t believe for a second. I sit back, my whole body attuned to the words they utter.
“The public is urged to come forward with any information regarding the last whereabouts of a man found in his burning vehicle off of route twenty-five-B, in the early morning hours of yesterday. The victim has now been identified as Fredric Dryden of Boston Proper, a fifty-two-year-old used auto parts salesman. The victim is believed to have known his attacker, and allowed that person to drive him to the location where his body and vehicle were found and set aflame. As of yet, there are no leads in the case; Boston PD requests anyone with any information to contact them directly. At this time, there is no mention of a reward for information.”
Reward? Are they fucking kidding me? I did them a public service by ending that piece of shit’s life. If anyone deserves a reward, it’s me for having to put up with his ass in the strip club, and risking contracting some deadly disease in that vehicle. As for leads, good luck. This is not amateur hour; I’m a seasoned killer, and I know how to hide my tracks. No one will come forward with any information, and no one will mourn that piece of shit’s death. I would’ve had to screw up royally for them to catch me, and that’s not in my nature. I’m at my prime, an apex predator, and I don’t leave things to chance. Those that get sloppy and complacent, get caught.
I slide out of the car, and stalk slowly through the shadows provided by the nearby buildings. I didn’t think it wise to park my car in the club lot two nights in a row, in case someone recognized it. I’ve decided not to attempt to approach the club from the front, but instead, to slip in through the side door I witnessed the women leaving through the night before. I’m hoping that the little security they have is focused on the inside of the club area, and the front door, and they ignore where the staff come and go from.
After waiting patiently for a few moments, behind a stack of old pallets near the side entrance, I slip inside, and I’m immediately accosted by the loud sounds of holiday music blaring through the speakers. Ugh, not this shit again. My eyes trail over the landscape before me, as the ripe smell of sweat and alcohol accosts my nose. The neon lights flare all around the club, highlighting naked dancing women, but never doing much to brighten all the dark, seedy corners. I slip behind a deep burgundy velvet curtain that leads you toward the VIP area, and the sounds of grunting catch my ears. I keep myself hidden as I search for the source of the noise, as irrational anger rises inside of me, at the thought that it could be Chrissy with some low life.
A hint of bright blonde hair meets my gaze, as it travels over exposed tanned flesh to the woman on her knees, in a barely there Mrs. Claus costume, and I release the pent-up breath I was holding. Her silly hat bobs precariously back and forth with the momentum of her head, as she deepthroats the guy she’s sucking off, as he leans against a column with his head tipped back and his legs widely spread. After another minute or two of watching, he cums down her throat with a guttural noise, and she rises to her feet, wiping at her red lips with a devious smirk.
“That’s fifty.” She holds out her hand in expectation, as the guy does up his pants and pulls out his wallet. I release a sigh of relief that it wasn’t Chrissy, and I don’t need to go on a killing spree, and irritation fills me. I shouldn’t care; she’s nothing to me, but a way to soothe my bloodlust. She’s a prize I want to win, torture, and then dispatch. I don’t have attachments with women, never have, and I’m not about to start now. I also can’t stand the thought of anyone else’s skin touching hers, and her down on her knees for some random asshole. Fuck, what the hell is the matter with me?
I creep along through the shadows, searching for my target, and ignoring all the debauchery around me. When I get closer to the bar, I don’t spot her, and a hint of unease rises within me that I immediately force down. My eyes search all the sections of the club, and I finally glimpse her hair, highlighted by the streams of bright lights, and that tiny uniform, over by the main stage. She’s holding a tray filled with various drinks, and serving a group of rowdy men, who are cheering on the two strippers dressed as reindeer on stage. I observe one of the men sliding his meaty paw up the back of her bare leg, as she leans forward to hand one of his friends a beer. She instantly straightens, swats away his hand, and gives him a death glare, but the useless fucker just laughs at her ire. A flare of rage simmers in my veins, and I know that before the night is over, that asshole will be missing that hand. No one touches what is mine, and right now, until I’m painted in Chrissy’s pretty blood, she belongs to me.
She finishes handing off the drinks, and winds her way back through the various tables to the bar area, her sexy, full ass swaying in the tiny shorts, and her legs looking impossibly long with those transparent, sky-high stripper heels. My cock swells in my pants, and my mouth waters with the need to take a bite out of the ripe, round globes of her asscheeks. She’s delectable, a wet fucking dream that my mind has conjured up. The only thing possibly missing from her perfection, is her crimson blood pouring from her various orifices, and the sound of her screams for my mercy.
My eyes catch a few men staring at her, one of them going as far as to palm his cock as he sits there, and his eyes drill holes into my girl’s ass. I grind my teeth and fist my hands, to prevent myself from marching over there and slamming his head into the sticky table in front of him. He gets up after a few moments of zeroing in on Chrissy’s movements, and heads towards the men’s washrooms, and I follow, keeping to the shadows. I enter the empty room and don’t find him at the urinals. One of the stalls is closed, and I can hear soft panting and the sound of a hand whacking off.
Motherfucker is in there, jerking off to images of my prize right now. That just won’t do. No one gets to picture her naked but me. I quickly lock the door to the washroom before backing up and shoving my foot against the stall door, forcing it to slam open and reveal the shocked fucker, sitting on the toilet with his pants around his ankles, and his hard cock enclosed in his fist.
He doesn’t get a word out before my fist is flying at his face, and making contact with his nose. His head slams back against the dirty tiled wall with a cry and a thud. He tries to rise off of the toilet, but I slam my heavy booted foot down on his lower abdomen, getting his deflating cock in the process, and a high-pitched screech leaves his mouth. My hand thrusts out, and I grab a fistful of his greasy hair, holding it taut before punching him again and again in the face, until my knuckles are split and his blood coats most of my hand, and the walls of the stall. I have to force myself to take deep breaths and try to calm myself down, before I kill this asshole here without any way of getting him out of the club and disposing of his body. Risks , I’m exposing myself to too many risks. What the fuck is the matter with me?
I reach into his pants and grab his wallet, opening it, pulling out his driver’s license, and waving it in front of his disoriented eyes. “Joey Bastion, if you report what happened here to anyone, I’ll be paying you a visit at your home, and I’ll just bet you have a wife that would like my attention. Do we understand each other, Joey? “ His terrified glance meets mine as he nods his head over and over like a broken doll. “Oh, and Joey, don’t look at any of the waitstaff, or the next time, I might not be so kind, and instead slit your throat.”
I wash my hands in the sink, refusing to look at my reflection in the mirror. I don’t want to analyze why I just completely lost my shit, over a guy daydreaming about a woman I plan to murder. I slip back into the strip club and notice the asshole that touched Chrissy earlier, staggering drunkenly for the front door. The need to maim and destroy fills me, the beating I gave Joey not pacifying me in the slightest. One more couldn’t hurt; I’ll just teach him a lesson about keeping his hands to himself by cutting them off.