His girlfriend had been really bad to him so he had punished her. One night he followed her home from work and then had punished her. She deserved it. She was a whore. A stinking whore like the rest of them. He looked at the mutilated pictures of all his previous girlfriends and laughed like a maniac.
He relished the thought of ripping out her hair and then cutting her up, just like the pictures. But now he was sad. He would have to find a new girlfriend. He'd just have to do so like before. He bought the morning paper. "Hey Jim" he smiled a greeting to the newspaper man. He entered the high-rise mid-Manhattan building and yelled for someone to hold the elevator. They did. As the elevator rose, so did his spirits. He was the enforcer. He was the Lord.
"You heard that serial killer struck again? Yeah, they found the body of the girl near the highway last night. A cross was tied to her neck. I tell you though you just never know. I mean, what kind of sick psycho would cut up someone like that? 'Scuze me..." the man who had been making the comments to his friend got off on the 42nd floor. Arnold laughed to himself. The police were so darn smart weren't they? Well, they weren't smart enough. He got off on his floor and proceeded to his office. "Morning sir." came the greeting from everyone he passed. Yes indeed it was a good morning.
His girlfriend had been really bad to him so he had punished her. No one is bad to Arnold Bleeker. He stopped for a second before a glass door that said: "Arnold Bleeker: Attorney at law." There was a spot on the glass. There was a spot on the glass. He'd have to deal with that later, he had some urgent business to take care off. He had to find another girlfriend. He got into his office and sat down. When he was free he'd take a look at the personals and find a new girlfriend. This would be number seven. And if she was not careful she'd end up like the other six--in pieces.
She looked at herself in the mirror. She liked what she saw. It's hard to believe that just four years ago she had been a slob, with low self-esteem. And then she had found out the truth--women had men under control. All men wanted was to have sex, and armed with that knowledge she realized that all she had to do was to get herself in shape in order to have men at her feet crying and begging. She hadn't done bad...not bad at all for a tramp from uptown. She didn't have to prostitute herself.
Her needs were basic. She had the bare necessities of life: A nice apartment, a VCR, a nice Jeep Cherokee, a large wardrobe, and a prize room. She was living the life to the fullest, no less. Who would it be today? Harry or Tyrone? It probably would be Harry. She turned around and stepped to the phone. "Harold Schneider please. Tell him it's Janelle."
He adored her. He had gotten everything but that part of her which he wanted most, and if she played her cards right he'd give her anything to get it. But she knew what it was she wanted from him--she knew exactly what she wanted. She held her head back and howled. Life is a bitch, and then you die.
He looked in the ads and one caught his eye. "Single Black Female seeks white male for physical relationship. I'm a pretty, slightly heavy, black woman in her mid-twenties, and I'm looking for a single or married white male for fun. I enjoy movies, dinners, and traveling. And I have a secret fetish". He read the ad over and over again. She was just like the others. Just like them, except she was black. He had never had one of them niggers before, but there is always a first time.
Guides
Channels