Thought Vomit #76: ft. Pulp Fiction 7

Chapter Seven

Vic strode back into Police Headquarters under very different circumstances from when he was last here. As the sun blazed in through the giant stained glass windows, casting colourful, almost Messianic light all over him, he looked at the awe struck faces.

The entire department had gathered in the huge reception lobby, as he carried the woman who was very nearly the latest victim, crying in his arms, and dragged the Bay Area Bow and Arrow Beast along by the hair.

As he reached the massive mahogany desk, he swung the killer easily up onto it, landing him with an unconscious thump.

“Book him,” snarled Vic.

“What’s the charge?” asked the nervous young desk sergeant.

“Murder.”

The lobby erupted in a cacophony of spontaneous and genuine applause, with cheering and whistling, but Vic ignored it. He was too used to this kind of reception to care anymore. All the cared about now was the girl in his arms.

“And get this broad a taxi,” he said softly, with a growl, “She’s had a quite a night.”

He dropped her on the floor and wandered up to get a coffee, but before he could suck down on another Camel, Harry was in his face.

“Get down to that Goddamn interrogation room and break this son of a bitch Vic.”

“I already broke him … with my car.”

“Yeah, then why is he sat in there laughing like a maniac?”

And he was, laughing, head back, uncontrollably, as Vic sat opposite him staring him out. Without blinking for nearly five minutes, he began to unsettle the Beast’s confidence, and before his eyes he began to wither and wilt. Finally, the psycho fuck had shut up.

“Name?” Vic snarled.

“Mick Valpone,” the killer gulped.

“Irish?”

“Yeah,” he blinked, “On my uncle’s side. How did you know that?”

“With a name like that,” Vic shrugged, “And I knew there had to be a Medieval London connection somewhere.”

Mick Valpone settled back in his seat, as Vic Malone studied him with one eye. Where Vic was tall, muscular and handsome, Mick was thin, wiry, a bit too short, the kind of guy even a hooker would say no to. No wonder he needed to get his kicks with a bow and arrow. Vic Malone and Mick Valpone were mirror opposites.

“You know Vic,” sniggered Mick, “You and me are just the same.”

“You and me are nothing alike,” Vic sat forward with menace, making Mick shrink even more, “I make women wet with lust, you make them wet with tears. And I don’t need to substitute my manhood with a weapon pal. I can get my rocks off.”

A single tear welled up in the Beast’s eye and began the slow journey down his cheek. With a sniff he gathered himself, and said, “That was mean.”

“Live with it. On death row.”

“I meant, we’re the same in that we both relentlessly pursue our man. Or in my case, woman.”

“So you admit it then?” Vic had him.

“No, I … just …” the Killer was squirming on the hook, but just then the door slammed open, and Harry stepped in.

“Interrogation is over Vic,” he barked.

“Like fuck it is,” Vic jumped to his feet, knocking his chair to the ground.

“His lawyer is here.”

That’s when she stepped in to the room.

“Vic,” said Mick from behind, “I believe you know your ex-wife.”

*****

From behind the one way glass, Vic watched the sickening smile of the Beast with a bilious feeling in his gut. A feeling made worse by the presence of his bitch ex-wife. It made him sick to the stomach to think she was defending this psycho. Maybe that’s why they got divorced; she was always defending the scum Vic mopped up.

But hell, what a body. She was staring right at him as she preened her face in the mirror, not knowing he was there. Her straight blond locks framed her symmetrical face which had everything it needed, including two eyes. Two bright blue gorgeous eyes. With a bitch inside them. But a gorgeous bitch.

Vic fingered his ring. Or at least, where his ring used to be. He’d had to use their wedding bands to kill the Hudson River Rapist and she had never forgiven him. Maybe that’s why they got divorced.

His gaze dropped to her rack. That blouse hid it well, but he knew how they felt under there. And as she turned around, he remembered her tight peachy ass, trapped inside that trouser suit. Sitting down, it hitched up slightly and revealed the top of her lacy stockings.

And just then, the Bay Area Bow and Arrow Beast saw it too, and licked his lips. Vic could have punched through the two way glass and tore his eyes out. And he could too, even though the glass was reinforced.

He’d had enough, he couldn’t watch as some guy leered over her body.

The coffee machine refused to vend him a cup of joe, so he kicked a huge dent in it, and was about to start a fight with the cigarette machine when two rookie cops wandered by.

“Did you hear?” one of them asked the other, “They’re releasing the Beast.”

That did it. Vic roared his anger and stormed down the hallway, punching Harry’s door down. What he saw didn’t help his mood. There was his ex-wife, lying on Harry desk, legs in the air, with Harry gripping her ankles, trying to do things to her only Vic could.

“Don’t get up on my part Harry,” smirked Vic, mocking his boss’ lack of tumescence.

“Vic,” Harry blushed, “You heard then?”

“Do you know what you’ve done?” Vic bristled and snarled and growled.

“She said there wasn’t enough evidence.”

“I caught him red-handed.”

“She said there were no witnesses.”

“I witnessed it, that’s all we need.”

“She said it’s your word against his.”

“My word used to mean something in this city,” Vic barked.

“It still does,” admitted Harry, still holding her ankles, looking really stupid now, “But the DA agrees with her.”

“Yeah? That’s because she’s banging the DA too.”

“What?” Harry nearly fell over.

“Save your lovers’ tiff for when I’m gone.”

“Is that true?” Harry asked her pathetically.

“All you’ve done today,” Vic snarled, “Is let a killer loose. And I bet her sweet little ass that he’s going to kill again.”

With that, Vic turned and strode away with scorn. Now he had to catch this sick fuck all over again. As he walked down the hallway, he heard Harry’s phone ringing, and listened as Harry answered it.

“What?” a pause, “Oh my God!”

Vic heard the receiver click back into the cradle, then heard the pathetic whimper of his boss as he told his ex-wife, “The Bay Area Bow and Arrow Beast has killed again.”

She burst into tears.

Good.

BLANK

Continue to Chapter 8 or buy the whole book now on Amazon UK or Amazon US.

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