Friday was slow in coming. Francis Nikeratos Poberas checked his watch again in the dark silence of his aged Buick, and ground his teeth through the impatience brought on by not having rubbed one off in a day or so.
Not that he needed to, though. Thursday had been delicious. The taste of her neck as his dry tongue broke the thin film of fearful sweat was more than enough to get him there.
Killing the bitch had almost been hard. Almost.
She did him the favor of making it easy when she kicked him in the nuts; it was always easier to do things in the heat of anger than in the cold calculation of necessity.
He smiled at his choice of words. Necessity. He liked that. Frank felt a strange kind of satisfaction, akin to what he imagined those tree-hugging pussies felt when they justified a bear killing a man out of "hunger".
"Bears gotta eat too, right?" he mumbled to himself. Just another crutch for Frank. Just another pill in his bottle.
The tinted glass doors slid apart, rolling out a white carpet of fluorescent light over the asphalt for the star of Frank's show; "Miss Friday, how nice of you to join us," he said to himself, a smile parting his cracked lips.
His loving fingers slid down to the safety of his service pistol and slid that nuisance out of his way as he wrapped a meaty fist around a door handle and pulled it with a satisfying plastic crunch toward his chest. Stubby legs found the asphalt easily enough, and he didn't even bother closing the door as he set into motion, traversing the darkened lot in near-silence.
Friday was beautiful.
***
***
As it was, though, she'd never know what name he'd given her. A stray lock of hair fell in front of her face as she furiously thumbed through the letters on her cell phone, hastily composing a text message to a friend as she traversed the quiet parking lot.
She smiled to herself. ***
Frank's aging Nikes ground the asphalt in awkward strides as he worked his way around the odd car, staying away from the pools of light that rained from the high lamp-posts.
***
He'd never win a prize for being stealthy, but that wasn't really necessary since his target was enthralled in her own little electronic world. Sweat greased his grip as he steadied himself against the hood of an Oldsmobile, starting on his final dash, the last few moments of the true hunt, where predator closed with prey in that final instant of absolute clarity, of primal order, absolute black and white.
This was his habitat.
This was his moment.
Meaty fingers wrapped around her right forearm as his weight smashed into her and bore her to the ground, breathless before she could even think to scream, unconscious before she could regain her breath as her skull bounced off the pavement with a gristly crack. Her Coke-bottle frames clattered to the ground only feet from the head that had once so proudly worn them.
She sobbed unconsciously as he dragged her farther away from the light.
Frank allowed himself a small smile as he unbuttoned her blouse, checking her pulse in the process.
After all, he wasn't no fuckin' necrophiliac. He snorted at the pun he'd made. Yes indeed, Frank was a hell of a clever guy.
***
James Isaac Gregory wasn't a donut-shop cop. No, sir. He had a genuine respect for his own line of work, and a sense that what he did was a necessary service for the community, and that he truly served his family by serving in the Jackson County Police Department.
His wife was nailing a meth dealer. So much for "Protect and Serve", the dealer would think as he shagged Jimmy's Mrs. Can't even keep his old woman from slipping into bed with another guy, and a criminal to boot.
Jimmy would glance over at the picture of his wife and son, Jimmy Jr., taped to his dashboard every once in a while, and feel some sense of pride. He felt like a fighter pilot glancing at a picture of his old lady as he flew into battle, except he did it for no reason at all.
When he pulled into the Wal-Mart parking lot that night, Jimmy glanced one last time at that picture.
The dim light of a streetlamp only silhouetted the small, shifting form, and when Jimmy turned his car to face this new arrival, he saw very clearly the unconscious, naked woman. His patrol car screeched to a halt, and he threw the door open, drawing his pistol and leveling it at the pervert.
"Stop right there!"
Frank had stopped, of course, when he felt the harsh headlights of the cruiser on him.
***
Frank hadn't planned for this.
Yeah, he froze. Of course he froze. There was no covering this up. There was no way he could un-fuck this one.
Shit. They'd probably figure out all of the other ones, too. Shit, shit, shit. His gun definitely was not going to help his case.
He stood up, hands held high, teeth chattering, shaking like a leaf. Shit. He'd forgotten to put his dick up. Holy hell, that was embarrassing. Nothing kills a boner like being arrested. Period.
Frank and his new buddy made eyes at each other for a moment, Frank hoping the officer's gun wouldn't go off, the officer hoping that Frank's hadn't yet.
No one thought to keep an eye on the victim.
***
Officer Gregory blinked, and in that single eyeblink, the shabby pile of rags and flesh on the ground behind the "suspect" – good Lord he hated that term – had disappeared. A sharp crack in his neck elicited a distant shriek of surprise, which he only recognized to be his own as he came to terms with the fact that both hands had gone limp, and his pistol had slid from them. He didn't even have time to realize that they were his final moments.
Fucking sick, Frank thought as it – whatever the hell it was – started taking bites out of the poor cop who had been in complete control of the situation only moments earlier. Frank's fear built, and he could barely think to wrap his fat fingers around the waist of his pants and tug them up to the indentation at his waistline and start hobbling the other way, grease-slicked moans of terror escaping his mouth as he made for safety.
***
An ear-splitting howl only spurred his chubby legs on faster, his hands scrambling to secure his large pants to his body so that they might be free to pump in time with his legs. In his inattentive panic, Frank tripped over his own feet, spinning as he fell and landing on his back with a heavy wheeze. He scrambled for purchase, trying desperately to backstroke somehow on the asphalt, then froze in terror as he heard the soft pit-pat of bare feet on the asphalt approaching him.
***
"Fuck me sideways," he said, realizing that his own massive girth kept him from seeing the very object of his fright, and closed his eyes, whimpering softly and praying for mercy, swearing off rape, swearing off little boys, swearing off porn and cigarettes and drinking and greasy goddamned Chinese food, and – sweet tapdancing Christ, anything that would save his skin.
Silence answered him. He smiled, baring teeth stained yellow from a life of sleazy decadence, and dared to open his eyes.
Her red eyes stared back into his, and she bared her teeth in turn, all razor-sharp, all dripping with saliva as she eyeballed Frank like the steak that he so truly was.
He screamed, but the last thing he heard was her chewing through his chest, and the sick crunch as she tore through his ribs with her teeth.
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