I walk out the hotel room and shut the door. I walk down the steps holding my jacket to my face trying to stop some of the bleeding from my cheek. When I get to the bottom of the steps, I notice no one is around, so I let my jacket down and run to the car. As soon as I get into the car I light up a cigarette. I adjust my rear view mirror to look at the cut. I reach into the glove box and grab a napkin.
I place it over the cut trying to stop the bleeding. As I’m looking into the mirror, I see a car in front of me slowly roll into the parking lot. I sit back, close the glove box and take a long drag of my cigarette. The driver of the car looks at me and stops his car. The car is plain and generic looking, and black in color. The driver gets out of the car dressed in jeans and polo. He had a distinct piece of jewelry around his neck, a police badge. He walks over to me and knocks on my window with his flashlight. I raise the window down. “You do know smoking is bad for you”, he says. I take a swallow, “Why yes sir, I’m actually quitting.” He lets out an effortless laugh. He looks at the hotel, and then back at me. I slightly shift my head to the right so he doesn’t see the fresh scar on my face. “ So what’s your business here?” I take another drag of my cigarette and blow the smoke out the window, trying not to blow it directly in his face. “Well I thought I would ask you the same question officer, I don’t see your kind much around here, I’m just having a smoke after a long day” “Well you’re right, finish your cigarette and keep it moving.” “I’m sure you’re well aware of what kind of neighborhood this is, you never know what kind of crazy killer you’re going to run into.” I don’t say anything. I give the officer a nod and took another puff of the cigarette. He taps the top of my car with his hand, turns around and walks back toward his car. I watch as he gets into his car, turns around and leaves the parking lot. I look at my cigarette; it’s burnt to the filter. I take one last puff and toss it out. I start the car and follow the officer out the parking lot.
This one will be a week today. She is sitting at the blackjack table with a dwindling chip count. She is tall and beautiful. Her golden brown hair is tied into a ponytail. I light a cigarette and walk to the table.
I stand just across from her, behind the dealer. She glances down to looks at her phone. She presses a button on the screen to display the time. She gathers the few chips she has into a pile. She stands up and walks toward the cash out line. I follow a few steps behind her. I let two people pass me and then join the line. She cashes out and I follow her to the parking lot, she is drunk. She walks down the block effortlessly waving down cabs. I follow her into the park. I follow her though the bridge underpass. I light up a cigarette and keep a slow pace behind her. She attempts to grab a jogger who runs by. I start to close the distance as she wanders deeper into the park. This woman has one of the worst types of addictions, gambling. Pissing any and all forms of currency she has. She justifies it by drowning in herself in booze. Gambling is a fool’s game and for low lives. She is a damper on society; she feeds into societies vices too easily, weak. A poor excuse for a human being. We reach the middle of the underpass; I quickly catch up to her, getting close enough to push her to the ground. I did not want to hear her scream. I kneel down and place my hands around her neck. She opens her mouth and starts to make gagging noises. She never screams, I watch as tears and saliva run down her pale cheeks. It takes thirty seconds for her body to lie lifeless in my hands. I release my hands from around her neck. There’s an imprint on her neck from the necklace. I could feel it clinched in between my hands and her neck. The necklace has a heart shaped locket on it. On the back it reads Daddy’s Little Girl. I pick her body up and carry it to a darker part of the underpass and set her down. I check in her left pocket. I find a check for a hundred dollars. I check in her other pocket and pull out her wallet. I open it and search for her drivers license. I pull it out of the sleeve, it reads, Emily Adams. I stand up and use my left foot to nudge her body into the corner.
I grab a garbage can. I turn it upside down and dump out all the trash on her. I set the garbage can down next to her corpse, and pull out a cigarette. I walk to the other side of the bridge underpass. I see a man with a fire burning in a barrel. I walk toward the barrel. I grab Emily’s wallet from my pocket. I pull the cash out, ball it up, and toss it in the fire. I do the same thing with her wallet. I walk above the bridge and back to the casino parking lot. I get to my car and light a cigarette. I start the car and drive out of the parking lot.
I look at the clock; it reads 12:11 AM. I have been driving on this road for two hours. I reach down into the middle compartment of the car and pull out a fresh pack of smokes. I tear the top wrapper of the package. I reach into the glove box and pull out a lighter. I quickly glance at the road before stuffing the cigarette into my mouth. I light the cigarette and take a puff. I switch on the radio and tune to the news station, AM 98.7. I listen to the reporter read the seven day forecast. He transitions to the local news stories. “Police continue its search for a suspect in the Grant Park homicide. The woman, who found the body, said she saw a short man with a mustache, wearing a grey coat and brown hat drive from the scene. She described the vehicle as a white 4-door car, maybe an older looking Chevy.” “Police are urging anyone who has any information regarding this matter to contact them immediately. “Police are also looking for a young woman who went missing just over two weeks ago. According to friends, nineteen-year-old Sarah Meyer was last seen leaving a bar and entering a cab. Police say the woman did arrive at her dorm room, but never made it inside.” “We will keep you updated on any new developments.” “This is AM 98.7, your news sou…” I cut the radio off.
I pull into a gas station. The sign reads Ritz’s. I pull behind a purple four-door truck. I look at the license plate; it reads “2Much4ya.” I look at the woman from head to toe. She is a short woman with long blonde hair. Her skin looks smooth and young. She is smoking a cigarette as she stares at the gas pump display. I open the gas cap on my car. I walk toward the door and enter the gas station. The door makes a chiming noise as I enter the doorway. I approach the clerk at the counter, “How can I help you?” “Let me get $20 on the white Lumina and a pack of Camel menthol cigarettes.” I pay the clerk, take the change and place it in my pocket. I walk out the door, looking in the direction where the woman was pumping gas. She is in her car now and staring to pull away from the pump. I run to the car and bang on the woman’s back window. She stops the car. I can see her glance at me through her driver side mirror. I walk from the back of the truck toward her window. I hear the doors lock. She rolls down the window and looks at me, “Excuse me what are you doing?” “You left your cigarettes,” I reach my hand up and grab the cigarettes from the roof. “Here ya go” She grabs the cigarettes, “Thanks.” I glance in her car at the screen of her GPS. “You’re welcome.” I walk back to my car and start to pump the $20 dollars worth of gas I purchased. I pull out a cigarette, light it, and take a huge drag. I sit against the car and start thinking about the address on the screen, 2554 West Pleasant View Lane, Detroit, Michigan 48201. I take three hard puffs of the cigarette. I glance at the gas pump, it reads 19.97…98…99…20.00. I pull the nozzle out of my car and place it back on the pump. I screw the gas cap back on and close the hatch. I get into the car and start the engine. I press the power button on the GPS, and wait for it to load.
I type in the destination: 2554 W Pleasant View Lane Detroit, MI. I pull out a cigarette and light it. I take a puff and glance at the screen. The screen reads six hours and fifty-six minutes. I shift the car into drive, keeping my foot on the brake. I glance again at the GPS screen. I take a long drag of the cigarette and tap the “label destination” icon. I call it #5.
She pulls over three miles down the road. Larry’s Pancake house is what the sign out front reads. I wait for her to go inside before I pull into the parking lot. I turn the car off and pull out a cigarette. I push in the cigarette lighter and scan the area. It’s a dark and misty night. Its been raining all day. There are 12 cars parked in the parking lot. “Pop.” I grab the lighter and light my cigarette. I take a few puffs and open the door. I walk in to the Pancake house and look around. I see the woman just to my right sitting in a booth. There is a cup of coffee on the table, and she is talking on her cellphone. I grab a seat at the counter. An older woman wearing a grease soaked apron approaches me. “Coffee?” I look at her, “Got any whiskey?” The woman looks at me with surprise. “I need to see some ID.” I pull my wallet out of my back pocket. I give her the ID. “Benjamin Thompson eh.” “You’re a long way from home aren’t ya?” I look at the woman and grab the ID out of her hand, “I’m just passing through.” I look over at the woman talking on the phone. She hasn’t touched her coffee yet. I need to find out more about this woman, she needs a reason to die. “Three dollars.” The woman sets the drink down spilling some of it on the counter. I look up at her. I pull out my wallet and give her a five-dollar bill, “keep the change.” I turn back around and the woman is gone. I stand up and start to walk toward where she was sitting. I see the woman just to my left paying the check. I turn around and head back to my seat. I pick up the glass and gulp down the drink. I wait for the woman to walk past me on the way out. I stand up and follow behind her. I walk through the second door. I look right and scan the parking lot, but I don’t see the woman. I pull out a cigarette and feel around my pockets for a lighter. The parking lot is dark. I walk toward my car because I don’t have a lighter. I hear a car start, so I look behind me. The lights are too bright to make out the vehicle. I turn around walk to my car. I pulls out the keys and reach for the door. I hear tires squealing. I turn around again. The car is speeding straight for me. I jump to my right. A sharp pain shoots up through my body. The car smashes into my left leg. I try to move but I am stuck. I spit out a mouthful of blood. “What the fuck!” A woman gets out of the truck holding her head. She walks over to me. “You monster, I know who you are, the white car, the murders.” “You have been following me all night.” I can barely stay awake as the woman is talking. I look down and a pool of blood is starting to form on the ground beneath me. I look up again and see the woman talking on the phone. I can’t make out what she’s saying. People from inside the pancake house are all standing around staring at me. I can hear the sirens from afar. I’m starting to get tired and my breathing is becoming more difficult. “Someone…anyone…got a light?”
