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Blind Date
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.
He read on, and in a fit of excitement he let his head back and howled. What was wrong with him? He got a hold of himself before anyone noticed and walked out for lunch. A few days later he was going to meet her. He had been his charming self, of course, during the introductions on the phone and all that nonsense. Now tonight they would meet at BBQ's for dinner.
He got there a few minutes early and paid the guy at the door to give her the flowers when she showed up. She showed up right on time, and he could tell it was her. Goodness she was beautiful. A wee bit heavy, but lord have mercy, what a body! And look at that smile... would you take a look at that smile? My what a beautiful woman. She walked over to the table and grinned at him:
"Arnold?'
"Janelle?"
"Nice to meet you."
"The pleasure's mine. Do sit down."
They talked for a while and ordered. It was amazing. Simply amazing. They had almost everything in common. By the time they had gotten through dinner it was like they had known each other for years. He couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe it. This was just simply unbelievable. They walked down 8th avenue and laughed and talked and then laughed some more. He was very happy with himself. She was ecstatic.
Finally, with a reluctant peck, they parted for the night. She back to her house, and he back to his. He would stop at his office first, however. Mustn’t forget to collect those papers. He turned a corner and walked a few blocks. He had made sure she’d gotten a cab. It was somewhat humid and the cab drivers were at their splendid worst, making life dangerous for pedestrians. He should call her tonight, much later tonight. She’d certainly give it up if he persisted. He’d told her he was going back to work. Maybe he’d call her from there, just to see if she got home safe. That was always a valid excuse. He whistled as he walked into his office building.
"Sir, what are you doing here?" the security guard asked cheerfully. "You’re the second person tonight."
"Oh, just forgot to pick up some stuff" he replied. In the elevator he continually grinned. This one was going to be the most fun. She was even better than the other ones--they were bitches, but she was a special slut. And she would soon be on her knees begging for forgiveness. He put his hand in his pocket and felt a metal blade. His body rippled with excitement. There is nothing more dangerous than a criminal mind that understands the way the detective mind works.
He opened the door to his office. The spot had been taken care of. This was strange. He hadn't had time to do it in the day time, and he knew no one else would have noticed it. There was nobody who was that fussy about cleanliness, he thought. Was he slipping? He'd better not be. He opened the door and entered the office, walking directly to his room. He heard footsteps in the hallway. The cleaning people? He sat on his desk and opened his cabinet.
A movement caught the corner of his eye but before he could respond he felt searing pain burn through him. As he screamed he heard the maniacal howls of a deranged woman. There is nothing worse than a serial killer who hunts and understands the minds of other serial killers. His last sight was his own blood making spots on the glass. Damn! He hated uncleanness. The pain killed him.
"Good morning and our top story today, high-profile attorney Arnold Bleeker was found brutally murdered in his office this morning. The details are pretty gruesome, and still sketchy. As far as we are now able to tell, his body was terribly mutilated and his genitals had been severed. Police do not know yet whether this has anything to do with the cross-killings of six women in the past year, although a cross, exactly identical to the ones found in the cross-killings was found in Mr. Bleeker's office."
She put her prize in the prize room. She placed it in sterilizer liquid within a small trophy that had "Single/Married White Male" written on top of it. She looked at another new trophy she had just made. It had "Harry" on it. She picked up the phone and dialed. "Harold Schneider please. Harry! Hi honey! It's Janelle." Harold adored her.
She looked at herself in the mirror. She liked what she saw.
The end
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