9. Killer

Corey is next. I guess he isn't as lonely as the other guys because trying to hunt him down online is taking too much time. I have to go to the source. The source being Corey's fucking corner in East Garfield where he peddles his drugs. I spend a day or two just watching his patterns. He and the others – my future victims – all meet at the same deli in the morning and then move out to their respective areas. The deli must be where they meet their dealer. Sometimes, Corey will meet up with one of the other guys when the traffic is slow, but they all keep to themselves for the most part. That should make my job easier.

He is friendly. Maybe he just considers himself charming enough that he doesn't need to meet women online. Granted, not having the benefit of an online chatroom is going to make me have to switch up my game. I mean looking at me would make it pretty fucking clear I am not a sixteen year old girl. No doubt, if they stopped to get a good look at me, they all would have run before I got a chance to cut their dicks off.

I linger at the bus stop while I watch Corey stand around and pretend to be talking on his phone or waiting for a ride to show up. I feel confident enough in his routine to approach him now. I know I can most likely have him sell me whatever he happens to be peddling. Maybe it is something I can let build up. I wonder if he would be more or less afraid of watching his dick get whacked off while buzzed out. I might have to try it.

I tug on the baggy pants I am wearing. They are part of my newest wardrobe acquired from the bargain bins at the donation center. If I don't think too hard about who was the last person to wear the clothes or whether or not they were washed before selling, I can just manage to hold out until I can get home and bleach myself of the germs. The jacket I am wearing is two sizes too big. I put a ball cap on and pulled my jacket"s hood over it. A bit of aesthetic dirt smeared on my face and fingers is the final touch to make me look like everyone else wandering aimlessly in the neighborhood.

After the third bus stops and waits aimlessly for me to board before moving on, I stand and make my way across the street.

"Hey," I call, glancing back and forth as I near him. "You uh –"

"Fuck off," he grumbles, looking back down at his phone.

"I was told to uhm . . ." I wring my hands in front of me and make an effort to blink my eyes a bit more than usual.

"I said fuck off," he growls.

He pushes off the wall he is leaning on and turns away, glancing around as he tries to retreat quickly yet casually. I scurry after him.

"Joe told me to find you. Are you uhh . . . Co - Cody?"

He stops and turns back to me, squinting his eyes as he looks me up and down. I push the hood further down on my head, both to look like I am tweaking but also to make sure he can't get a clear look at my face.

"No, I ain't Cody," he growls. "My name is Corey. Corey, you fucking imbecile."

"Sorry," I mumble. "Look, he said he was out and I should come to you. So, you got anything?"

"What you want?" he asks.

"Anything, man. Hard?"

His lip curls as he looks me over. Stepping forward, he takes another cautious glance around before nudging his head toward the side of the building behind us. He waits for me to move and I steel my nerves as I turn my back to this fucker and walk away. I can hear him following me and my fingers itch with the want to turn back and slam my fist into his face. Once I reach the wall, I turn around and lean away as he glares down at me.

"Money," he snipes.

I dig around my pockets like I forgot where it was. Holding up a finger, I reach down and tug up my pant leg, pulling a dirty wad of cash from my sock. I hold it up and he snatches it from me. He glances around again as he slowly counts the bills. It is forty dollars – mostly all in ones. It is all the cash I had on me. After counting the bills, he tucks the money in his pocket and produces a small blue bag. Holding it close to his palm, he slaps it into my hand and I have to fight back the urge to vomit as he touches me.

I tuck the bag into my sleeve and nod, turning and walking away as if I didn't know who he was. Crossing the street, I turn to the right and keep walking, adjusting my hat and not looking back.