The Butcher

Stories should be considered X rated and should not be read by minors.  Age is dependent on country and municipality.

 

 

Another nice predicament I’ve gotten myself into.  As I look down at the floor I wonder what I missed. Who can I really trust.  And where in the hell is the fuckin’ cavalry?  Hanging two feet from the floor, completely naked on an ass hook is not my idea of having fun, even though it does have its moments.  So, where should I start? 

 

Story 3 – The Butcher

 

Three weeks earlier…

As the old saying goes, another day another dollar.  That is, after inflation.  It’s another beautiful Tuesday and I find myself once again trying to sneak to my desk by taking the back route.  Not that I am late.  I just don’t have the story I promised for today’s front page.  Damn snitch didn’t have his facts straight.  But In many ways, it didn’t matter.  My editor, an old fuddy-duddy is of the belief that my role in his world is to make his coffee and food runs.  Proofread someone else’s copy, not mine.  Wear tight blouses.  Short skirts…

“Ouch!”  Some dumb ass just pinched mine!  I turn around to slug the son-of-the bitch and find myself face to face with of all people, my fiancé.  “You bastard!” I scream, slugging him in the shoulder.  You need to keep up appearances here.  Give anyone the upper hand and your days are numbered in the newspaper business.

He smiles as be blocks my second punch.  “Sam.  Calm down.  I have some breaking news.  The commissioner has just confirmed that there is another Butcher victim.  Some high school student at Haven High.  And believe it or not, William has agreed to give you the lead.”

“Henry, the only reason why he gives me anything is because he wants some of this!”  as I point to my ass.  “And there’s no way in hell I’m giving him any of that!”

“I would hope not babe.” Henry smiles.  “Don’t worry about today’s story.  It’s covered.  Just get something on this Butcher case.  Okay?”

As I start to turn, I whisper “Henry.  What do you like about me?  Theses?”  pointing to my tits.  “This?”  Pointing to my ass.  “Or this?”  pointing to my right hand.

Henry winks.  “I’m in it for the package deal.  But if I had to choose, I would say the right hand.”

Smiling, I practically prance to my desk.  Damn, this is good.  The lead on the Butcher case!  I could feel all those envious eyes following me.  Or at least they should be.

The Butcher case has been open for three years.  No leads. No evidence.  Just a list of people who suddenly vanish, as if they were beamed up in mid-stride.  The three leading possibilities, all which are improbable if not impossible include magic, spontaneous vaporization and alien abduction.

Black magic I would believe, but not just plain magic.  Most magic is misdirection by a person with an excellent set of hands.  Now back magic is different.  I’ve seen stuff that I’ll never be able to explain.  Most on the dark side.

Spontaneous vaporization?  Person, clothes, jewelry, everything just vaporize in thin air?  Is there such a thing?  I’m still not a believer in spontaneous combustion, although there have been several confirmed cases.  Confirmed, of course by a group of quacks.  Just my opinion.  You can take it or leave it.

That last possibility I find totally ludicrous.  Not because I don’t believe in the little green men, I do!  I just can’t believe that they would waste their time studying us.  As humans go, we must be the slugs of the universe.  And who spends time studying slugs?

As I plop down in my chair I try to pull my skirt down just a bit.  Damn thing tends to ride up on my thighs.  Of course, any skirt seven inches above the knee would have that tendency.  At least I won’t have to display these legs for William the rest of this week, and maybe the next!  I’ll be out of the office running down those leads!  Torn jeans and tank tops!  Here I come!

Powering up my laptop, I start browsing the available information on the case.  First – why they call it the Butcher case?  Is a local butcher a prime suspect?  After digging around, it appears that butchers, the good ones that is, leave little to no evidence of the animals they’ve slaughtered.  I guess it made sense.  You couldn’t call it the Alien Abduction case.  You could call it the case of the unknowns.  But that would put the cops in poor light.

The latest victim is a senior at the local high school, Haven High.  She makes it eighty-nine people that have just plain disappeared.  The average had been one victim every two to three weeks.  However, this month there has been a noticeable increase with Missy being victim number four.  As with the others, there is no kidnapping note.  No demands.  And absolutely nothing that links her to the other victims.  There is one thing they have in common.  They all are, or were in excellent physical shape.

Missy is one of the youngest victims at 17.  Not your typical student in that she got straight A’s while being captain of the high school female soccer team.  She disappeared yesterday walking between classes.  A mere two hundred feet.  The other victims included a car mechanic, he went for a cup of coffee and was never seen again.   An IT consultant who was last seen walking to the office from the parking lot.   And a rich housewife who was last seen just two houses away walking her dog.  All disappeared quite suddenly.  All were in very excellent shape.

The police know they are dealing with a serial killer.   Then again maybe it’s slave trade.  And it could just be eighty-nine people who just decided to get away from it all.  I guess it’s now my turn to figure that out.  It’s been a while since a had a front-page sizzler.  Okay, three weeks.  Some of my past copies included the school board member who ran a drug ring in the schools.  Nice.  A masseuse who raped her victims, proving that crime goes down both sides of the street.   And my favorite, the hooker who blackmailed her clients.  Both male and female.

I’ve been a reporter for about four years now.  And have had about ten award winning stories.  My peers call it luck.  I call it what it is.  Luck.  Hard work.  And having the associate editor as my fuck buddy.  Do you think the fuck buddy should come first?  Of course, he really isn’t a fuck buddy, since we’re getting married…  Need to think this one out.

Finding out the basic information for the last four missings, I gather my things and start walking towards the door.  About half way there my ass gets yet another pinch.  With a smile on face, I turned around expecting to see Henry.  The ass pinching fool.  Well.  It wasn’t Henry this time, but a fool just the same.  It was my boss William Newcome.

“Mr. Newcome.  What can I do for your?” I inquire.

“My Samantha” he replies.  “Just do a good job on the story.  I’m sure we can think of something after you’ve put it to bed.”

I walk towards him, allowing my tits to barely touch his chest.  “Mr. Newcome.  I’m sure you could think of several things.  Just remember to pass them by Henry.  Oh, and HR.”

Turning around, I wonder how long I need to put up with this, this crap.  From my boss!  I start walking towards the door and my ass gets yet another pinch.  I wheel around ready to slap that fuckin’ boss of mine and find myself almost slapping Henry.

“Damn it Henry!  Are you reliving your teenage years?  Or does my fucking ass just overpower any common-sense you men might have?  Which is it?”  I find myself trying to stare him down.

He smiles.  “Just wanted to tell you good luck!  Be careful!”  After hesitating for a second he adds “That is one overpowering ass you have”

Smiling back, I give him a quick kiss.  Turn.  And walk out the door.

 

 

The Butcher
Cat Calls

Walking down the street I find myself alongside one of the community’s bigger construction sites.  A two-hundred-unit condo.  They have most of the steelwork up, with the iron workers quickly putting up the rest.  I love teasing those guys and find myself walking by at least twice a day.  Henry warns me that there might be a price to pay sometime in the future.  My motto – worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.

I slow down just a bit.  This is unusual for this group.  Silence?  But suddenly it all starts.  The cat calls.  The indecent proposals, which some have become fantasies of mine.  And the momentary stop of almost all work.  I face them and take a bow and blow them a big kiss.  And in turn they blow kisses back.  A mutual fan club of sorts.  I love the attention and they love giving it.  Giving them a quick wave I walk to the curb and hail a cab.

“Where to Miss” the cabbie asks.

“Haven High” I answer.

In the cab, I find myself thinking of what I just did.  “Why?” I ask myself.  “I don’t like my boss’s advances but then I turn around and flirt with the construction crew?”  Then I smile.  “Why not” Another rule of mine – if you have it, flaunt it.

If I don’t say so myself, I’m a looker!  And I’m not modest.  Henry and I run three miles every day, and I swim laps twice a week to help keep my body in shape.  At 5’7” I’m not too tall, not too short.  I’ve let my blonde hair grow down to my waist.  It helps frame my other assets.  Ass. Tits.  34cs.  And my beautiful face.  Oh, and I can’t forget that perfect golden tan.  I usually wear silver jewelry as an accent.  And since when has a cat call hurt anybody?

Shaking my head, I start thinking about the story.  I make a mental list of who and what I want to see once I get to Haven High.  The principal.  Her teachers.  Her friends.  Her boyfriend.  And her fuck buddy.  If she’s as good looking as I think she is, based on past victims, I’m sure she has a fuck buddy.  Maybe two.

The cab drops me off at the main entrance.  Being in a very happy mood, I give him a more than decent tip.

My first stop, the main office.  After signing in, a requirement at all schools these days, I asked to see the principal.  A Mr. Rickard Banks.  As I waited, I notice that there are several officers in blue taking notes.  I assume it was concerning Missy’s disappearance.  One glances my way and then takes a second longer look.  That is until he noticed that I was starting back.  Quickly turning away, his focus is now back on his pad.  Damn skirt, I should have changed before coming here.  I probably don’t even meet the school’s dress code.

A tall man with dark hair enters the room from one of the side offices.  He was hesitant at first, until an officer said it was okay to talk to me.  I apparently now have cart Blanche.  He walks my way extending his hand.  “Miss Peterson, I assume.  I’m Richard Banks, the school’s principle.  It’s a pleasure to meet you!”  We finish our brief, but firm handshake and head back towards his office.

Entering, he asks “What can I do for you?  I’m assuming it’s concerning Missy Cooper’s disappearance.”  I nod my head as we both take a chair.

“What can you tell me about Missy Cooper?  I gather that she was an excellent student.  But did she have enemies?  Would she disappear on her on accord?”  These are the first questions any report should ask.

Mr. Banks thinks for a minute before answering.  “All popular girls have enemies, the majority on them being other popular girls.  Typical high school culture.  She did just break up with a boy, Bill Jones.  It was two weeks ago today.  He’s the captain of our football team.  And a very popular person.  The scuttle butt I heard was that is a coessential breakup.  They both had found someone else.”

With a curious look I ask, “Do you know who they were?”

Mr. Banks shakes his head no.  “You could ask Missy’s best friend Sarah Moore.  And of course, you can ask Bill.  Do you want to speak with them?”

I shake my head yes.

Mr. Banks calls one of the secretaries and asks that Sarah Moore and Bill Jones be called to the office.  “They should be here in a couple of minutes.”

“Did she have a reason to disappear on her own?” I ask again.

“You’re the wrong person to ask” Mr. Banks answers.  “Even though we’re the smallest high school in the community, we still have over eight-hundred students.  It’s hard to know much about any of the students, with the exception of those who visit me on a regular basis.  Again, I have to suggest that you ask Sarah and Bill.”

I node my head, a little disappointed.  But I really didn’t expect him to have the answer.  He’s right.  Sarah and Bill should have the answer to that.

After talking for a few minutes, there is a light knock and Mr. Banks’ door.  Mr. Banks waves Bill to come into the office.  This gives me a chance to take a quick down at my skirt.  Okay, legs.  I need to make sure my skirt hasn’t creeped up.  Don’t want to look like a slut, now do I.  No adjustments needed now.

Bill takes the chair next to mine as Mr. Banks makes the introductions “Miss. Peterson, this is Bill Jones.  Bill, this is Miss. Peterson.  She’s working with the police concerning Missy’s disappearance.’

“I am?”  I say to myself.  That definitely caught me off-guard.  I need to have a talk with Henry about this.  Of course, it isn’t a bad thing.  If it doesn’t interfere with my final copy.

Mr. Banks continues, “School policy requires that someone be present during any questioning.  I hope you understand Miss Petersen.”

I nod my head yes and turn my attention towards Bill.  “Hi Bill. Thank you for your time.  I just have two questions for you.  Do you know who Missy was dating after your breakup?  And concerning your breakup, was there any ill-feelings?”

Bill didn’t know who she was dating, except that he was from another school.  As far as the breakup was concerned, he confirmed Mr. Banks statement, it was coessential on both sides.

He’s about to standup when I remember, “Bill, did Missy have any reason to disappear?  To run away?”

He answers immediately, “No. She was a very happy person.  No family problems.  None in the school. And she loved the community.  Is that all, Miss Petersen?”

As I stood up I told him no.  He had answered all my questions.  “Thanks for your time!  It was nice meeting you.”  A brief handshake and he was gone.

Sarah, who was waiting outside the door walks in immediately after Bill leaves.  Unlike Bill, she is uneasy.  Fidgeting with her hands as she clumsily takes a set.  Sitting down, I remember to adjust my skirt.

After the introductions, I ask, “Sarah, I won’t take too much of your time.  I just have three questions; your answers would help me tremendously.”

Sarah has a nervous smile.

I continue, “Do you know who she was dating after she broke up with Bill?  Does she have any enemies, students or teachers that really hate her?  And did was there somebody other than Bill that she was intimate with on a regular basis?  I think you might call him a friend with benefits?”

The last question startled both Sarah and Mr. Banks.  A stern look appeared on his face, as if saying “You can’t ask questions like that, not in my school!”  Something he never did vocalize.

As before, Missy had no real enemies.  Just competition.  As far as who she was dating, it appears no one really knows.  And the fuck buddy question…

“I can’t believe you asked that question!” Sarah half yells.  “What kind of girl do you think Missy is?  She is no slut, I can tell you that.  No!  She does NOT have a friend with benefits!  A fuck buddy!  But I bet you do!!!”

Yep.  As I figured, she has a fuck buddy.  The friend is protesting too much.

With confirmation that I had no other questions, Sarah jumps out of the seat an angrily walks out of the room.  A look at Mr. Banks confirms that he’s not too happy with me either.  I guess I will talk to the teachers another day.

“Miss Petersen, is there anything else we can help you with” Mr. Banks politely asks.

“No, not today.” I answer.

“Well, if there is just let us know.”  Mr. Banks shows me to the main office door where we exchange our goodbyes.

I head towards the front door and then make a hasty retreat into the guts of the school.  Hopefully, no one saw that.  After all, it is an arrestable offense.  Walking down towards the gyms, I remembered that I had my automatic with me.  Where you ask?  In my knee high boots.  So, if they caught me now it would be a state, and maybe even a federal case.  Good thing I blend in with the rest of the students.

That’s what I’m looking for.  The awards case for the women’s volley ball team.  I slowly stroll past it, trying to absorb everything and anything I could.  In the middle was the latest team picture.  Something I need to take a picture of.  Standing in the middle of the photo is Missy.   She is a really a beautiful young woman.  Someone I wouldn’t mind fucking.  Ah, need to keep my mind on work.  I take my phone a snap a few pics of the display case, and a good one of the team photo.  Not sure why but certain things are just not adding up.

On the way to my next stop, the location she was last seen I see the cameras.  Surveillance cameras spaced about every fifty feet.  Not obvious, but they are there.  Well.  My gig is almost over.  They probably have the school police headed my way.  Taking a quick look around I note there was no way she could have avoided the cameras.  So, do they know what happened?

I need to look at that footage!  Today!  I’ll take my chances and hope they don’t charge me with illegal trespassing.  And I won’t tell them about the automatic.

Reaching the main office, I enter and head directly to Mr. Banks office.  Talking to one of the assistants, he turned his head slightly to find me standing in his door.  With a surprised look, he quickly asked “Did you forget something Miss Peterson?”

Smiling I reply “Mr. Banks.  You didn’t mention anything about surveillance cameras in the hallways.  I would love to see yesterday’s footage, now if you don’t mind.”  Even if he did mind I was going to see that footage!

Nervously he answers, “Why sure Miss Peterson.  My assistant will set you up in the office next door.  It should only be a minute.”

Well, the minute turned into five, but it was worth waiting for.  One view showed her leaving her 10AM class while the other showed her walking towards her 10:45 class.  There were several people around her, all rushing to get to their next class.  At one moment you could only see the top of her head, on both cameras.  Then it happened.  She just plain vanished.  One moment she’s there, the next she’s not.

“Well I’ll be damned!”  “Have these been altered in any way?”, I ask the assistant.

She shakes her head no.

“I see it and I still don’t believe it!  Maybe we do have a case of alien abduction or spontaneous vaporization.  Then again maybe black magic is at play here.  Damn!”  I keep replaying those ten seconds over and over thinking, hoping that they might change.  They don’t.

The assistant just stands there with a dumb smile on her face.

I thank her and Mr. Banks for their help and walk out the front door.  I’m still have problems believing what I saw.  The girl literally disappeared.  Damn.  I drag out my phone and arrange an Uber pickup.  Five minutes the app says.  They’re usually right.

Standing there, I go over what I heard and saw at the school.  The principal said that the school was too big to know everybody.  But he sure did know Missy.  Who her boyfriend was.  That they had an amicable parting of ways.  And that Sarah was her best friend.  Was the because he was asked that before by the police.  Something tells me no.

And while he knew all of that about her, he knew nothing about the guy she was currently dating.  Except that he was apparently from another school.  No one appeared to know who he was.

Uber arrives, a woman this time.  I sit back in the back seat and give her my home address.  Need to do more research.

 

 

The Butcher
Early Martini

 

Miss Uber and I have a delightful conversation on the way home.  Mostly about men.  And why we shouldn’t trust them.  I only hope Henry doesn’t turn out to be a typical male.  As she pulls up to my front door, I add a generous tip.  She definitely earned it!  For fifteen minutes she helped me forget what I saw.  A person vanishing into thin air.  As I start to get out, Miss Uber turns around and hands me a piece of paper.  Miss Uber turns out to be a Pam with a phone number that will be very easy to remember.  I smile.

Waving as she drives off, I look at my locked front door, wondering where in the hell I put my keys this morning.  While today was officially Tuesday, it beginning to feel like a second Monday.  I dig through my purse for what seems forever, just to remember placing them in a small pocket located on the inside of my boot.  Beside the small but effective automatic.

I finally get in.  Turn off the alarm and walk straight for the kitchen, shedding clothes as I go.  First the boots.  Then the skirt. And then the blouse.  This half day requires a drink.  And some quiet time.  Maybe a martini.

A few minutes later I’m leaning back in a lounge chair by the pool, slowly sipping a martini.  I still need to talk to the teachers, but more important, I need to talk to our computer expert.  Surely Missy didn’t just disappear into thin air.  Someone had to have tampered with the video.

Then there’s the butchers.  Is the perp a butcher?  There are thirteen butchers that aren’t associated with grocery chains.  Out of the thirteen, two I can vouge for.  One is an old friend of the family; I’ve known him for almost seventeen years.  The other – I buy my meat from.  And he’s been a on Henry’s friend list for about fifteen years.  That leaves eleven, one which arrived in our fair community just two years before people started disappearing.

Then there are the disappearances of both the housewife and mechanic.  I’m finding particularly those particularly interesting.  Turns out that there were several people that did witnessed their disappearance.  Just that the police couldn’t believe what they were saying.  Was it more bizarre than Missy disappearing into thin air?  That I need to check.

Finishing my martini, I decide now is a good time for several laps in the pool.  After the twentieth lap, I run upstairs.  Put on a pair of tight jeans.  A loose blouse.  And some walking shoes.  It’s going to be a long afternoon.

First stop, the office.  I need to borrow our car.  Second stop – the young butchers store.  Not to question.  Just buy some steaks, and have an innocent conversation with.  And if there’s time, stop number three will be the housewife’s neighborhood.  I need to find out what’s so unbelievable.

The first stop, which should have taken seconds, took what seemed like forever.  The principle talked to the editor who then talked to Henry.  No one was happy, especially me.  They asked time and time again, “Why did you ask that girl if she had a fuck buddy?  Why?”

And my answer was, “I said friend with benefits!  I would never say fuck buddy!”  That was a lie.  “He, or she would probably know more about Missy than anyone else at that school.  If she was having problems with somebody, they would know.”

That was followed by stares, a brief few seconds of silence, and the repeat of the same question.  Damn, I was getting tired of this.  After the fifth time, I just turned, grabbed the car keys off Henry’s desk, and stormed out the door.  “Damn it guys, I’ve got work to do!”

Ten minutes later I was still angry when I realized that I was going the wrong way.  “Damn it!”  I take a quick look and do an illegal u turn.  The butcher’s shop was near the mountains, in a somewhat ritzy part of town.  The houses there averaged four hundred thousand on the low side, five million on the high.

After driving about forty minutes I find myself in front of the butcher’s shop.  Smack in the middle of a unique and expensive shopping area usually reserved for stores like Tiffany and the Cartier.  Not someplace you would expect to find aa butcher shop selling T-bones.  He must sale a lot of topped notch T-bones to make the rent.  I look at the stores surrounding him: two jewelry stores, a dress boutique, and a Starbucks.  Maybe I can do some shopping afterwards.  I should be able to afford the coffee.

My bad luck continues as there is no sign of a free parking spot near the shop.  After driving two blocks I finally run into someone pulling out of one.  Literally, I almost rear end the slow bastard.  That wouldn’t have made Henry too happy.  Or our next door neighbor, the insurance guy.

I jump out of the car as it rolls to the curb and start towards the butcher shop.  I don’t get too far though as I was pulled aside by a pants suit showing itself off in a shop window.  Going in, my visions of a sure purchase dims slightly as I see the price tag.  $479.  Before taxes.  I need to think about this one.

I hit the street and continue towards Sam’s, trying to avoid looking at any more enticing windows.  For me this is hard.  My number one weakness.  Shopping.  After several minutes, I finally find myself walking into the butcher’s shop.  Looking around I see some similarities between this and any other butcher shop.  That is if you don’t include the coffee bar surrounded by a lounge area and the gold dusted cuts of beef, lamb, and fish in their refrigerated cases.  The shop was full, with most of his customers sitting in the longue enjoying a cup of coffee along with a pastry decorated with a splash of gold.  All had smiles.  They’re probably talking about today’s shopping exploits.  Politics.  Or today’s weather.  I suddenly realize that Sam’s butcher shop, Golden Cuts belongs in the shopping district.  The store that now seems out of place is Starbucks.

Behind the counter is a handsome young man.  Probably in his mid-thirties.  As I approach he asks if he could be of any help.  Smiling, I ask him for two nice cuts of beef.  “My husband’s had a bad week.  I want to treat him to something special.”

With a smile, he points to two New York strip steaks.  “You can have both for $495.  I’ll even add some cheese cake at no charge.”

While trying to hide the shock, I find myself revaluating the purchase of the pants suite which is now $16 cheaper than the steaks in front of me.  “Strip steak is okay, I was hoping for something a little more special.”

Taking a few steps to his right he points to the Filet Mignon.  “How about something like filet?  The larger cuts go for $275 each.”

I’m not sure about the beef, but that pants suite is very definitely going home with me.  Out of nowhere there’s a loud clap of thunder.  Startled, I look over my shoulder to see it pouring outside.  “Strange weather we’re having.  I would have sworn that the sun was shining when I walked in the door.”

Still smiling, he answers.  “If you want to see strange weather, you need to go to Gulf coast.  You never know what it’s going to do.”

That sparked a short but informative conversation.  He lived in Destin for about ten years.  He has been married for 9 years to Beth.  His children, Sam, Jr. and Christine are 6 and 8.  And his original profession was in photography, not in beef.  In the middle of the conversation my phone rings.  Perfect timing, not!  It’s Sam.  He’s probably still pissed and wants to let me know.  I reject the call.  If it’s important, he’ll leave a voice message.

Waiting for the rain to stop, I grab a cup of coffee at the lounge.  Fifteen minutes later I leave Sam’s with $550 worth of filet and gold.  Along with some needed information.  On the way back to the car I stop, try and purchase the pants suite.  I leave spending just over a $1,000.  As I said, shopping is my weakness.

I walk to the car, and while placing my purchases on the back seat remember Henry’s phone call.  I look at my phone and notice that he left a voice message.  “Sam.  There’s another missing person.  A young lawyer disappeared on a busy downtown street.  She works for Jones, Smith, & Carlton…”

Damn!  Another female.  We now hold a slim lead.  Forty-six victims are female, forty-five are male.  And Sam appears to have a great alibi.  He was selling me a small fortune in steak.

 

 

 

The Butcher
The Floating Leash

 

It meant taking the long way, but there was no way I was going to let $550 dollars of steak spoil.  Anyways, it only meant an additional ten minutes.

 

 

To be continued…