"Go Get 'Em, Killer"

“GO GET ‘EM, KILLER”

Twice a day at 4:15, every light in the casino flickers. The air crackles with electricity and smells like burnt wiring, and the music goes silent. The slot machines stop whirring; no chips or cards hit the table. The interruption lasts for three full minutes, and then the lights are back on as if nothing ever happened. Some of the residents will tell you, ‘it’s a basement issue’, but no one goes down into the basement. Especially not the devil. Whatever is down there, rumor has it, is something he does not wish to see.  

The first time he killed, Ozias waited for the guilt to hit him. He sat on his bathroom floor with his arms resting on his knees and hot, sticky blood soaking through the front of his shirt. All he could see of the dead woman in his bathtub was her arm, which was dangling over the side and leaking blood onto his obnoxious aqua-colored tile. He must have stabbed her sixty or seventy times, something like that, until his hand started cramping. He didn’t even know why, if he was being completely honest with himself. Other than the fact that she had given him the opportunity, and he had seized it just like anyone else would have, in his position.  

The guilt didn’t come. Instead, as the minutes crept by, he was hit with a twang of panic. What was going to do with her body? His eyes scaled the shower curtain, which he could wrap her up in, but it was a clear one. He could always double-wrap the corpse in a tarp once he had her out of the bathroom, but then, what? His neighbors weren’t good for much, but they were nosy. They would notice a nearly six foot man, who was mostly known for tending to his prize-winning hydrangeas, dragging a body out through his garage and tossing it in the trunk of his ’67 white Mustang.  

He should have planned this better.  

He didn’t even want to think about what it would take to get all that blood out of the bathroom. Borax, baking soda, and a few hours’ on his knees scrubbing. At that point, was it even worth it?  

Yes. The answer came rushing through him before he could even dismiss the thought. He shivered from his shoulders down to his toes while every muscle in his body tightened. Yes, it was worth it. Holding down her squirming body, feeling her writhe underneath his hand, exhaling the euphoria and relief that came with every thrust from his knife. He’d tuned out her screams, because that wasn’t what he liked most. He liked how her blood made her blazing-hot skin slick. He liked how helpless she became, and how her fear tasted on the back of his tongue (mostly like copper, the smell of her blood). 

But he had to clean the mess, if he wanted to do it again. His head spun a little as he grabbed the edge of the bathroom sink and pulled himself up from the floor. Order of operations—he had to dismantle the shower curtain, pull her body out of the bathtub, wrap her up and then drag her out… 

Within thirty minutes, he had it all done, with her body waiting for him in the kitchen by the garage door. Ozias grabbed a wooden crate full of cleaning supplies out from under his sink and walked back into his bathroom to start scrubbing. Better to tackle that first, rather than let the blood congeal and dry. After that, he went upstairs to his second bathroom and took a shower, stuffing his dirty clothes into a trash bag and washing all the sticky, arterial blood off his chest and arms.  

He couldn’t do anything about the scratches on his arms. He picked a light brown cardigan to wear over a clean shirt and thanked God that it was encroaching on autumn.  

He thought the guilt would come once he had to back his Mustang into the garage in order to load it up. He did that as quickly as possible, which didn’t leave much time for any lingering doubts.  

He cruised carefully out of his suburb, because a sleepless neighbor would surely notice if he peeled out of his driveway at nearly three in the morning. Once he was on the main road, he hit the gas and burned good Kentucky rubber.  

---  

The dump site was a brown river that stretched on for miles and was flanked by massive trees. Ozias kept his car running as he pulled the body out of his trunk and dragged it to the side of the bridge. He kept an eye out for any oncoming cars as he gripped the crinkled tarp in both hands and lifted, hauling the body over the side and watching it break the water like a rock, landing with a horrendous slap and splash. 

He stood there for half a minute and waited, as if the body had a chance of bobbing back up to the surface. He didn’t see anything, and the wind shaking the browning trees made him nervous. He slipped back into his car and fished between the seats for the unfinished carton of cigarettes he knew he’d stuffed down there. The nerves spread through his entire body, making his hands shake and his teeth chatter.  

The car engine died. It stopped purring right as he yanked a slightly-crumpled cigarette from the mangled carton with his teeth. Ozias swore and turned the keys to the left, then to the right, cranking the Mustang so that it chugged and whirred, but didn’t kick back to life. Ozias gave it a rest and pulled out his keys, taking a minute to light his cigarette and have a deep drag to calm his nerves. He counted to eight and then tried again with the keys. This time, the car started up, and he nearly shat himself in relief.  

Until he turned his headlights on, and saw someone was standing right in front of him—close enough to touch the hood of the car, if they wanted to. Ozias’ heart raced and sent his blood roaring through his ears. His first instinct was to run this person over. To tap them with the Mustang and watch them fly. He stuck his cigarette back between his teeth and slammed the gas pedal down to the floor, but his wheels only spun and went nowhere, like a radio-controlled card being picked up by its child handler.  

The person in front of him smiled. Ozias assumed they were a man because of the broad shoulders and ungodly amount of chest hair, but he had been wrong before. Whoever it was, he was dressed all in white from his suit to his dress shirt, and the headlights lit him up like a beacon. From where he was standing, it was hard for Ozias to make out the fine details of his face. Half of it was obscured anyway from a plume of smoke that poured from the end of a burning cigar.  

Ozias pulled his foot off the gas so his wheels stopped spinning. The stranger walked around to the driver’s side window and leaned against the car, propped up on one arm his acrid smoke clouding the glass. 

Tanned knuckles rapped on the window. Ozias took a deep breath and cranked it down. He had nothing to worry about, he reasoned with himself. He was the one knew how to kill. He was the dangerous one. Whatever this man had seen, it could all easily be erased with the edge of a knife.  

He finally got the window low enough and the man slid a pair of round lavender sunglasses down his nose. He had the most staggering blue eyes that Ozias had ever seen, and just looking into them made him feel a little colder.  

“Come here often, handsome?” the man at his window asked. Ozias’ stiff fingers twitched.  

“Can I help you?” Ozias asked, keeping his response short to try and convey his disinterest in chit-chat. Not only that, but his tongue was moving a lot slower, and he still couldn’t tear his eyes away from that penetrating blue gaze.  

“Oh, don’t mind me none. I just saw you and I had to know what you are all about.” The stranger’s hand slip through the open window and grabbed Ozias by the chin. Those blue, blue eyes became his entire world, drawing him in and swallowing him up in pupils like spreading drops of ink.  

Ozias’ tongue was completely still, like it had been pinned to the roof of his mouth. He protested with a sound, but even to his own ears it sounded weak.  

“Oh, that’s so interesting,” the stranger purred. “You really, just, don’t want to get caught, don’t you? That’s all you’d ask for.” His words started to distort like Ozias’ whole head was being held underwater. “Well, I think I can accommodate you there, handsome.”  

Ozias tongue no longer felt like it was ballooning behind his teeth. He gasped and turned his head while the stranger slid away, pulling his round lavender glasses back up over his eyes.  

“Fuck me!” Ozias growled, spitting into his floorboard.  

“Only if you ask nicely.” The stranger grinned and flashed a sharp gold canine. “Move over, honey bunch, I’ll drive.”  

“Like hell; this is my car.”  

“You’ve got cops on your tail, ‘like hell’ is how you’re going to want to get out of here.”  

At that, Ozias blanched. Cops? But, how would they know? One of his neighbors must have said something, seen him and gotten suspicious, phoned it in while standing at their window while he pulled out of his driveway… 

While his head was still spinning, the stranger opened the door and Ozias crawled into the passenger seat. The car revved loudly without the stranger even touching the keys—or maybe Ozias just imagined it that way. The stranger’s grin widened with the engine’s purr.  

“What’s your name?” Ozias asked, still feeling dazed.  

“You can call me Bee, if that suits you.”  

“What if it doesn’t?” Ozias asked, just to be difficult. 

“Then tough shit, I suppose, I don’t respond to much else.” Bee barely tapped the gas pedal, it seemed, and the car went flying along the bridge. Ozias’ hand slammed against the passenger-side door and he gripped the handle, grinding his teeth to try and keep from swearing.  

Bee laughed, a laugh that sounded like a bobcat screaming, and placed his cigar back between his teeth. He only had one hand on the wheel and was spinning the slick leather around his palm like a kid in a teacup ride. “Lighten up, Ozzy baby, I’ll get you home in one piece.”  

“How do you know my name?” Maybe he was a cop. In fact, the longer Ozias thought about it, that made more sense than anything. He’d let a cop into his car, and now they were probably driving down to the station where they would book him and lock him up forever. And he couldn’t do anything about it, not at this speed. Taking out the driver would have sent the whole car spinning and Ozias would never kill again, either way.  

“I know everything. Except I don’t know how to keep the vanilla wafers in a banana pudding from going soggy. That’s top-tier devilry and out of my jurisdiction.”  

If Ozias clenched his jaw any harder, he was going to start swallowing his own teeth.  

“If you don’t pull over this car and let me out, I’m going to pistol-whip you until you spray brains,” he said, although his lacking tone did not match his threat.  

That laugh again, louder than before.  

“If you want me to stop driving, I will.” Bee took his hand off the wheel and Ozias’ heart did a flip. He reached out in a panic to take hold of the wheel himself and Bee swatted his hand away before re-taking control.  

“What are you?” Ozias asked. Between the smoke, the noise, and the turbulence, all of his reason felt like it was leaking out of his ears.  

“I’m your dream come true, baby,” Bee said. “I’m your only way out of this mess. You did a number on that broad back there, and you want to do it again, don’t you?”  

Ozias made a face at the word ‘broad’. “I work alone,” he said flatly.  

“Uh huh, and you’ll die alone too. Come on now, be serious and answer the question.”  

“I want to do it again,” Ozias said, this time without any hesitation. “I liked the way it felt. I keep waiting to feel guilty, but I don’t, and maybe I won’t.” He wasn’t sure why he was sharing any extra details. They seemed to just come spilling out of him.  

“You won’t,” Bee said. Ozias wasn’t sure whether that was meant to be reassuring. Bee kept going. “Maybe late at night, when you’re laying in bed and you’re sweating over getting caught—those are the hours when you might feel a pang of regret. But it isn’t true guilt, and if you know that you’re not going to get caught, then who knows if you’ll even get that far?” Orange sparks flew as he ashed his cigar out the window.  

“How can you know that?” Ozias asked, which was a ridiculous question in the face of someone who knew his name without even asking, and his crime without even being in the room.  

“Because your run-of-the-mill killers are a dime-a-dozen, but you’re special, baby. You’ve got franchise potential. You could go nationwide. No night sweats, no terrors, nothing but the drive to keep on doing what you love because you’re good at it. I can take away the consequences, make it so that you never, ever have to pony up for your actions.”  

“Why?” Ozias pressed. “Why would you?”  

“Because I want to see what you do,” Bee shrugged. “I think you’re cute, it’d be a shame to see you hit the chair before you really got going.”  

Ozias leaned forward as much as he dared and dropped his head into his hands. “And what about you? What do you get?”  

In the rearview mirror, Bee’s smile spread.  

“Well, Ozzy, it’s all about give and take. You do a lot of taking, so you need to give a lot back.” He rolled his cigar around between his fingers. “Every kill you make, I get to fuck you, I mean really fuck you, and I choose when it comes time to collect. Appetite for appetite, right? My hunger is as deep and empty as yours.”  

Ozias wasn’t completely sure of what that last part meant, but he was starting to put the pieces together. And, well, there were worse bargains to be made. If this man—well, he wasn’t a man, was he? He was a devil, if Ozias had ever seen one—could really follow through, then that meant Ozias could fill his need, his hunger, without any consequence. Gorge himself until he was sick. And at the end of the day, all Bee wanted from him in exchange was a little box? Bee might have been deranged, but he was handsome as hell. It wasn’t a hard bargain.  

Ozias dropped his scrutinizing gaze down to Bee’s lap and gave it an ounce more thought.  

“All right,” he said at last. “Appetite for appetite.”  

Bee let out a howl like a coyote, while the car flew so fast that the trees and the sky began to blend.  

---  

The wheels were smoking when they stopped. Ozias got out of the car and ran his hand worryingly over the frame, checking for any dents or scratches.  

“Is my car immune to harm, as well?” he asked dryly.  

“Consequences, not harm,” Bee corrected him. “Not that I’m eager for you to have any bumps or bruises, but it’s best to clarify.”  

“Fair enough,” Ozias said. He pulled himself away from his baby and dragged his garage door shut, unable to stop himself from looking both ways out of habit to see if there were any spying faces peering through their windows.  

The house smelled clean when he walked in. It was the bleach and the borax, he was vaguely aware, but it was odd when he had been expecting blood and rot. He caught Bee looking around, hands in his pockets as he ambled across the living area and headed straight for the bedroom. He didn’t beckon, but Ozias followed him anyway.  

Ozias wished, belatedly, that his room was in better shape. The sheets of his full-size bed were rumpled and there were clothes on the floor. Posters of some of his favorite bands; Poison, Oingo Boingo, and Def Leppard among others, were plastered to the wall and the slanted ceiling above a turntable with two disorganized soda crates full of vinyl on either side. Bee stood in front of the turntable and dropped the needle onto the record that was already on top. Oingo Boingo’s ‘Who Do You Want to Be’ started playing and Ozias walked over, his tongue flicking nervously over his bottom lip. 

“It’s the new album,” he said, although the tension was palpable and his attempt at conversation was not helping.  

“I dig it,” Bee said. He glanced over at Ozias and those blue eyes crawled up and down his entire body. “You don’t look like a killer.”  

Ozias’s face turned hot and he pushed a hand through his hair. “I’m not a coordinate-your-wardrobe-to-the-event sort of gay,” he said.  

Bee laughed. It was a softer sound than before. More human. He moved closer to Ozias and snaked an arm around his waist, bringing one hand to rest against his back before drawing him in and closing the remaining distance between them. “You could do without a few layers.” He picked up the edge of Ozias’ cardigan and slid it off his shoulders. It joined a pair of abandoned pajama pants on the ground and was quickly followed by his shirt, then the swathe of ace bandages he wore wrapped around his chest. Ozias stood there, feeling entirely exposed even though he was still half-dressed. There were chill bumps on his arms that raced up to his shoulders and his nipples stood erect from the apple-sized endowments on his chest.  

Bee cupped Ozias’ chest with his large, hot hands and pinched his nipples, just hard enough to draw out a gasp.  

Suddenly, Ozias felt like he was trying to swallow around a tack.  

“That’s beautiful,” Bee said with a brush of admiration over his thick, deep Southern accent. “You’re damn fine, killer.”  

Ozias didn’t know what to say. He let Bee pull him over to the bed and crawled back towards his pillows to better spread himself out, watching as the devil stripped his white blazer and his shirt, leaving only his golden cross necklace against his bare chest. The devil crawled towards him, taking hold of Ozias’ pants by the belt loops and working them down his hips. Ozias trembled a little bit when his boxers slid off with them. He had felt exposed before, now he was completely vulnerable. 

‘Like the woman in the bathtub,’ was his thought, and it felt ironic.  

Bee placed one searing hand against the inside of Ozias’ thigh and pushed his legs apart. Bee’s head dove and Ozias yelped, panic jolting his chest as he grabbed the devil’s hair without thinking.  

“Wait! Stop! I mean, hold on, I’m sorry.” His breath came out in little gasps. “I’m sorry, I just, I need a minute.” 

Bee’s head came back up and he propped his elbow on top of Ozias’ knee. “Second thoughts?” he asked.  

“No, no.” Ozias was dizzy, and he wanted to die at the same time. “I just…need to take it slow. I haven’t, I’ve not…ever.”  

“Never?” Bee raised an eyebrow. “Well, I guess I’m not surprised.” He watched Ozias from behind lavender lenses. “Take your time. I’m patient.” 

Ozias couldn’t help but smile at that. If anything, it was half-embarrassment, half shyness from being so turned on. He put his hands over his face and tilted his head back, peering through his fingers at the ceiling until he collected himself. Pete Burns stared down at him, and he finally gathered the courage to nod.  

“Keep going,” he said. The next thing he knew, Bee was breathing against his cunt, and the devil’s tongue slid over the outside—three up-and-down, long strokes before going deeper. Ozias’s entire body shivered and he melted into the bed, lowering his hands to put them back in Bee’s hair. The devil’s tongue stretched him open, going deeper than he thought possible while being almost unbearably hot. Bee held his thighs apart until they were stretched to their limit and kept licking, flicking his tongue over Ozias’ clit and sending electrical pulses of pleasure rocketing up his spinal cord.  

Ozias had given himself several orgasms, but the one that started building was a new kind. It was tight across his belly and lit every nerve ending at once. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to scream for the devil to stop or beg him to keep going, but either way, he knew he wasn’t going to avoid cumming for much longer.  

Right at the precipice, Bee removed his tongue and came up to claim a kiss. Ozias almost screamed in frustration but took the kiss eagerly, holding Bee’s face while tasting himself on his mouth. Bee pushed three fingers inside of him, going all the way down to the rings. Ozias’s strangled moan staggered out and he writhed, grinding down on Bee’s hand before his fingers left, also, and was replaced by the head of his cock.  

Ozias grabbed hold of Bee’s hips, pulling him to try and get the devil inside of him as quickly as possible. Bee hovered just outside of entering, waiting for what, Ozias didn’t know. Ozias writhed, tormented by the presence of what he suddenly wanted so badly, but Bee’s hand on his belly kept him from getting any closer.  

Then, without warning, Bee plunged into him. Ozias screamed in pleasure and sank his nails into Bee’s shoulders, hanging onto him as the devil speared him all the way through. Bee rocked his hips back and then thrust again, and again, fucking Ozias into the mattress so that his whole world was just a flurry of colors and sensation and vague, blaring music.  

Ozias didn’t last long, he couldn’t. Bee pulled the orgasm out of him like he was yanking Ozias’ soul out by the roots. He dug his nails deeper into the devil’s shoulders as he came, clenching around that thick, pulsing cock that filled him so well, like it was made just for him.  

Bee pulled out and hot, slick cum splattered all over Ozias’ thighs and his cunt. He didn’t even care, with his world still spinning above his head.  

Finally, Bee pulled back. Ozias sat up a little and glanced down. There was blood on his sheets, and on the devil’s cock. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, mortified. “I’m so sorry.”  

“Why?” The devil tossed him a stray blanket, presumably to wipe down with. “It’s not the most blood you’ve spilled tonight.”  

Ozias swallowed the stubborn, imaginary tack lodged in his throat and stuffed the blanket between his legs. “Appetites,” he muttered.  

Bee flashed him a grin. “Both sated,” he said. “At least for tonight.”