6. Killer

Chicago public transport. The place to be surrounded by people and at the same time be mostly ignored. The easiest place to consider the crime you are about to commit as soon as the train reaches your stop.

I sit on a weathered bench staring at the empty playground across from me. Considering who Holden thought he was meeting today, this was a fucked up place to be. It is late enough in the evening that most children have wandered home and the only ones left roaming the park are the more unscrupulous teenagers looking for trouble. Fine by me. People who are not on the right side of the law are certainly not about to report a crime if they see it. That is one of the good things about big, dangerous places like Chicago. If you want to see tomorrow, you heard nothing. You saw nothing.

I adjust the baggy coat I am wearing. It helps keep out some of the drizzle falling from the sky and will only help make me look more like the wet street rat I am trying to be. Holden is going to be looking for Kitty – a sixteen year old girl in a purple hoodie and blue jeans. He is going to "meet" Kitty here at the playground in fifteen minutes. After some back and forth in our private chat, we agreed that he would let me stay with him until we figured out the next step. But knowing Holden, I was certain he only saw dollar signs over his head when it came to innocent little Kitty. The sick fuck.

Bouncing my knee, I grip the paper bag I am holding a bit tighter. Inside is just an empty bottle of whiskey. There were a few swigs left when I brought it from my apartment, but I have already downed them as I made my way here. I need to keep a level head when it comes to getting this job done, but a little liquid courage can't hurt.

A man is walking up the path toward me, puffs of smoke following in his wake from the cigarette he holds lazily between two fingers. As he gets closer, I recognize Holden. He isn't wearing what he said he would. Typical. He likely wants to scope out the area to make sure I appear – well, Kitty appears – before he makes himself known. Before he spots me, I lay down on the bench and tuck my empty bottle against my chest. The knit cap and coat hood covering my head hides most of my face. I can still see the playground from this vantage point and after a moment Holden comes into view. He stops near a post and leans his hip against it as he takes his phone from his pocket.

How long is he going to wait for Kitty until he gives up? Diego was the most patient of the bunch so far. He agreed to meet Janie – the girl he thought he was talking to – further south in the city. We aren't too far from Holden's usual turf. If I were really Kitty, he would have the advantage. No doubt he already had plans to take Kitty somewhere secluded, quiet – then do who knew what with her. I am not even sorry I am about to ruin his day.

With my hood tucked down over my face, I watch from my spot on the bench as Holden finishes his cigarette and puts the phone to his ear. Five minutes turns to ten. At the fifteen minute mark, I can see he is getting agitated. At twenty minutes, he makes a final phone call then curses as he puts the phone in his pocket and lights a cigarette. The sun has disappeared over the neighborhood now and the park is covered by a deep twilight glow. From my spot on the bench, I can't see if anyone else is lingering in the area. I reach into my coat to make sure my knife is where I left it. Tucking the empty bottle against me, I stay still as I watch Holden start walking in my direction.

I let him get a foot or two past me before sitting up, a groan fumbling past my lips as I play dumb.

"Shit!" he shouts, turning toward me. "I thought you were fucking dead."

"And you were just gonna walk by?" I mumble, scratching at my hood.

Giving an exaggerated stretch, I tip the bottle toward my mouth then act surprised when it is empty.

"Fuck," I groan. "Got any spare change?"

"No," he gripes, turning away from me.

"Can I bum a smoke?" I call after him.

I pull my hood down and scratch lazily at my eye as he turns back to me. He pauses for a moment, no doubt looking me over as he debates whether or not to be kind enough to offer me a cigarette.

"Just one smoke, man," I grumble.

Shaking his head, he reaches into his pocket for the pack and pulls one out. I take it with a friendly smile, setting it between my teeth before feeling around for the lighter I know I don't have. I flick my thumb a few times and he grumbles as he takes out a lighter. I light the cigarette and hand it back to him, smiling as I take a long drag.

"Thank you," I say. "You are a good man."

"No, I'm not," he spits.

He walks away and I smoke lazily on the cigarette, trying not to think about the fact that his disgusting fingers had touched it. I wait until he rounds the corner then leap from the bench. I bolt across the thicket of trees and pull the empty bottle from the paper bag as I hide in a thicket just by the path.

I check once more for any witnesses. It is dark enough now that the smart people won't be wandering these paths. I don't know how long until the more unscrupulous characters start to emerge, but I don't need much time. Holden has the phone at his ear as he comes around the curve in the path. I take a deep breath and hold it, squinting in the dark as I wait for the exact moment to make my move. His boots crunch against the broken concrete and he curses again as he pulls the phone away from his ear and looks down at the screen.

I can see the curve of his fat chin in the blue glow. Before he has a chance to look up, I leap from the bushes and swing the glass bottle.

The glass doesn't shatter when it connects with his skull, giving me the chance to whack him two more times before he can even take stock of what is going on. Blood spews from his head on the fourth hit. On the fifth, he falls over.

I make quick work dragging his body off the walkway and into the thicket. From here, I can work quickly to finish the job and then stroll away like any other homeless person wandering the streets.

I pull the duct tape from my coat and cover his mouth before binding his wrists and ankles. Pulling on my stained leather gloves, I pat my hands together before reaching for the blade in my pocket. He comes to just as I am ripping through his clothes. He wiggles and tries to scream, but he can't get out of the tape. Groaning, I straddle his waist and begin carving the R into his chest. His screams are muffled behind the tape, but they are still just a bit too loud for comfort. My heart starts racing as the blood falls in deep red lines across his torso. They never seem to bleed enough when I kill them. Then again, I don't have the time to let them really feel the pain I think they deserve.

The city's usual ambiance drowns out some of his screams; but, if anyone wanders too close, they are going to hear. Sliding down his thighs, I look up at him and smile, waving the knife, before pointing the blade right at his cock. I want them alive when I do this. Men are too attached to their penises, and I like the idea of their last few moments alive being filled with the terror of watching their favorite appendage being ripped from their body. Not going to lie, sometimes when working, I feel the pain in my own groin. But a sharp knife makes quick work. It is just some floppy tissue after all. Except for Mikel. I don't know what was fucked up with that guy, but he got hard the moment I grabbed his dick.

Holden's gut hangs down enough that I have to push it up to get to the button on his jeans. His feet kick against the grass behind me as I slide his zipper down and tug at his boxers. His flaccid dick is hidden in a dark patch of hair and I suppress my urge to shake the disgust off me as I pinch it between my fingers, pulling it taut, and pressing my blade against the skin. The knife is sharp enough that one slice breaks the skin and severs a vein. Hot blood seeps into my gloves and I saw faster as I try to get the dick off. Holden screams behind the tape then begins to gurgle as he vomits from the pain.

"Gross," I mumble.

He begins choking on his vomit as I slice through the last bit of flesh. His shrimpy dick hangs limp between my fingers and I smile as I wave it in his face. He is too busy choking to take notice. Shame.

"I mean, it is a pretty clean cut," I note, looking at the dismembered cock in my hand.

There really isn't much to a penis once it is detached from the body. They sort of shrivel in on themselves. The first one I cut off, I was just curious enough to squeeze it. Fucker still had enough life in it to twitch. Never doing that shit again.

Throwing my arm back, I chuck the cock across the grass then adjust myself on Holden's thighs before going in to slice his testicles off. He stops moving before I am done, and I glance up to see his pale face in the dim light. He couldn't have died from blood loss that soon. I tilt my head as I stare at his chest. There is no motion. Fucker must have choked on his vomit. That isn't a very dramatic way to end it all. Oh well, I am too far into this now.

I finish removing his nuts and toss them in different directions before standing. My knees ache, and I can feel the blood seeping through my gloves. His death wasn't as fun. Am I getting immune to this or was he just too easy? I guess I will have to wait for the next one to find out.

I stash my knife and gloves in my pocket before tucking my baggy coat around me and walking away. I rinse my hands in one of the community water fountains before strolling back out of the park.

Four to go.