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  One of the bigger guys stood up and cracked his neck. He raised a meaty hand on the city boy’s shoulder and grunted at him.

  “I don’t like you.”

  “Good for you, I will be tormented that we’ll never play a game of horseshoes together.”

  “You’re a sarcastic little prick.”

  “Well I see you are the more educated one of the lot so I assume you are the diplomat. You see, although it may not be visible to the naked eye, I carry a nice gun on me. It is a .40 caliber Sig 226. Now I can pull it out, aim, and blow the remainder of your teeth out of your redneck heads before even one of you can spit a wad of dip. I may not take you all out, but while you are stunned I will be reloading to take out the rest. Now I’m not trying to start any shit but I will gladly finish whatever is started.”

  The meaty man smiled at him and chuckled. He turned to the others who nervously laughed as well.

  “You are a cocky little fuck, but you’re alright for a Californian.”

  “I am glad to be accepted.”

  “Just don’t get out of line, ok?”

  The inside of this establishment was something right out of a movie. It was a hot, sticky place full of tables made from old barrels, a dance floor full of locals trying to get laid and a bar with an impressive showcase of alcohol. The walls were plastered with pictures of outlaws, snakes, and various types of guns. From the rafters, suspended by wire, were ancient looking farm equipment. For a second he imagined what kind of damage the scythe could inflict on one of the women in here.

  Eyes followed this man to the bar, where he took a seat next to a massive man with a full beard and a shirt covered in sweat stains. He smelled like a mixture of motor oil and shit. When he noticed the new guy sitting next to him he turned to the man with a look of surprise. “A fag?”

  “I just got clearance from the welcome committee outside.”

  “Jud let you in here?” The fat bastard asked, astonished by this little bit of information. It seemed to take him a second or two to properly process it and it wasn’t because he was drunk, it was because he was stupid.

  “If you are referring to the massive man outside; than yes.”

  “He must be drunk or something. Ok then.” The fat man returned to his beer as he stared at the television set, lost in the empty space between him ears.

  The man that ran the bar saw him and immediately headed into his direction. He had long blond hair which hung past his shoulders. He wore a T-Shirt for a band called Hayseed Dixie and seemed to have most of his white skin covered in tattoos. This man he recognized. He approached and smiled.

  “Tanner?” the bartender asked.

  “Yes, I presume you are Chad?” The city boy responded.

  “Chad, you know this clown?” The fat bastard then asked.

  “More than one might imagine. What will you have, it’s on the house.” Tanner relaxed with this man’s generous hospitality. He glanced at the beer display and squinted.

  “I think it is safe to assume you don’t carry Braufactum.” Tanner asked, still scanning.

  “No, never even heard of it.”

  “I’ll take a Heineken then.”

  “German piss.” The fat man hissed at him as if Tanner’s words were blasphemy.

  “You don’t say Mr…”

  “The name’s Bubba.”

  “I would have never guessed.”

  Chad smiled at his new friend and handed him a beer. Tanner sipped it and tried to enjoy the setting as he waited for one more to arrive.

  ***

  As if Jud and his crew didn’t get a laugh enough at Tanner and his Mercedes, here came a Mazda Miata. The red car pulled in and parked next to the Mercedes and the jester crew couldn’t help but laugh.

  Pat was a gauntly man. He wore black leather pants with straps hanging off. He proudly wore a tight Joy Division band t-shirt which hugged his skinny frame and his long black hair fell over his pale face, a face with piercings in his septum, lip and eyebrow. He smoked a clove cigarette which he tossed from his black nail polished hand.

  When he approached the bar the crew burst out laughing. Pat shot a menacing look at the bunch.

  “Look its Columbine High’s unknown gunman.” A woman cried out.

  “Damn, you are way out of our dress code, bro.” One of the rednecks managed to get out between sobs of laughter.

  “Don’t fuck with me.” Pat replied with confidence. This made them laugh even more as Jud approached the little man.

  “Why not?” The colossal redneck asked. Pat reached into his pocket and pulled out a badge. It was a Tennessee Metro Homicide Forensic badge. Of course the rednecks didn’t read it; the shape alone was intimidation enough. They grew quiet and went back to ignoring him. That is except for Jud. He gave him a long, drawn out look of hatred as the little fool entered the establishment.

  A few chuckles and awkward looks later Pat saw the well dressed man at the bar. He strolled up and sat down next to him. Tanner ran his eyes up and down his body and smiled.

  “Pat?”

  “Yeah, you must be Tanner.” He responded in a soft voice, nervously looking around. Chad approached the new comer.

  “And I’m Chad.”

  “Great we’re all here now. Let’s talk.” He nervously blurted out. Chad shot a look at him which warned him that is wasn’t safe to talk here.

  “No, not now; we must wait until I close up, then we can discuss things.”

  “What do I do until then?” Pat asked, confused and irritated.

  “Drink.” Chad laughed. Pat managed a smile.

  “I don’t typically drink but fuck it. I’ll have a Coors Light.”

  ***

  The rest of the night was rather low key. A few new comers ragged Tanner, but word spread quickly about the badge the freak held onto. This was the kind of place where there were more arrest warrants than clean people at any given time. They did not want to bring heat down upon them, so naturally they left Pat alone. Once the last of the drunks were pushed out to drive their massive pickup trucks down the muddy back roads of Estill Springs, the outside lights were cut out and the three were now alone.

  Chad led them over to a table near the dance floor. He took a seat.

  “Well my plan has worked thus far so now we will proceed.”

  “I’m curious as to what this will be.” Tanner eagerly listened.

  “Well let us start with introductions. I’m Chad Browning. I own this bar, The Snake Pit, and also live here. I’m a hunter, having grown up in Morganton North Carolina. My nickname is “The Woman Hunter” because I kidnap prostitutes from the major cities, set them free in the woods, and hunt them. After I kill them I field dress them, stuff them, and hang them from trees. My body count is right now at thirty six.”

  Pat nodded with approval as he nervously drummed the wooden table with his fingers. Already his queer behavior was bothering Tanner, but Chad didn’t care.

  “I’ll go next.” Pat eagerly jumped in. “I’m Pat Heath. I’m a forensic tech who works at a body farm.”

  “What the fuck is a body farm?” Chad asked with intrigue in his voice.

  “It’s a place where we leave cadavers out in various natural settings and study decay. This helps us with timing death.”

  “Wow.” Chad nodded with approval. “This I need to see.”

  “Yeah I saw a documentary on this.” Tanner added, trying to find a common ground with the little gothic freak.

  “Anyway, I grew up in Illinois and moved here to Tennessee and work at the body farm. It’s only like an hour from here.”

  “No way.” Chad’s jaw dropped. All his time living here and not once did he know there was a body farm so close?

  “Yep. I’m an artist. I kidnap women and put on a show. Usually this is done with lights and music as well as cosplay.”

  “And that is?” Tanner asked.

  “Costume play; I dress up. I torture the women mentally and physically all while documenting my work
before, during, and after. I do this with photos. When I am done I bring the bodies in the body farm so they’re never found.”

  “Never?”

  “Fuck no, we got pigs and worms and shit there to eat the bodies when we are done. I then leave the pictures in random bathrooms for someone to find. I have been called the Deadly Photographer and my body count is thirteen.”

  Chad nodded toward Tanner to tell his story.

  “Tanner Rothstein. I live in Long Beach California, attended Brown University in Rhode Island, and own a business called Rothstein Enterprises. I’m a seducer of women. The woman must be attracted to me for this to work. I win them over, usually poor girls, and then strangle them. I then dress them in expensive dresses they could only dream of wearing in life; Versace, Prada, and Gucci. I make their dreams of being glamorous come true in death. I then dump them in Hollywood with a fresh bouquet of flowers. I’m called The Good Taste Strangler, a reference to my clothing choice for my victims. My body count is at nineteen.”

  “How we got into this lifestyle is irrelevant. We all have our reasons and no one here is judging; quite the opposite actually. I reached out to you both with the goal of performing the ultimate kill.” Tanner and Pat’s ears perked up.

  “Ultimate kill?” Tanner asked with a hint of mistrust. “Excuse me if I sound coarse but what the fuck is an ultimate kill?”

  “This shall be a victim which will be a worthy adversary. She is a woman who embodies characteristics which will satisfy a seducer, an artist and a hunter all the same. We will all get our chance to play with her, and when it is done we all will kill her…together.”

  “Sounds beautiful.” Pat replied with a genuine tear in his eye. “How poetic. I mean it’s-“

  “You must forgive me now if I sound suspicious, but I have been schooled to think a certain way and to re-wire my brain otherwise takes far too much effort. My question is then, why?”

  “Because the thrill for the kill gets sour; we’ve all been there. This is a new experiment which will live up to all our needs.”

  “How do we kill her in the end?” Pat asked. “I mean Tanner strangles, I mutilate and you shoot. How do we decide?”

  “I thought this one through as well. Are you familiar with the story The Lottery by Shirley Jackson?”

  “Of course.” Tanner responded.

  “Good. The ending of that story is how I picture this ending. We will all stone her to death, none of us have done that before.” This interested Pat immensely.

  “It’s perfect, but who would the woman be?” Pat asked eager to hear.

  “I’ve been watching her for a while now. She has a little something for everyone. She’s a gorgeous woman, sensual as well as sexy. She is strong willed and will certainly need to be wooed. Tanner this is perfect for you. She is a sculpture and I have seen some art work in her apartment that demands a darker taste. Her mind seems strong. I think that Pat can find something there.”

  “Yes, I can.” He responded with a smile.

  “And as for me, she is an ex soldier, served in Afghanistan. She was kidnapped in 2006 and remained a prisoner of the Taliban for over two years. She survived by escaping. This is my worthy adversary, perfect for a hunter.”

  “This woman, she certainly does sound like the perfect victim.”

  “Her name is Debbie Lingle.”

  Chapter Two

  The music vibrated throughout her apartment as she danced, or at least engaged in an activity which she referred to as dancing. She swayed her way between her furniture as the chorus of the punk song sped up. As she felt her heart race with the beat and her worries and fears evaporate like rain fal in a desert she flung her hair in every direction as she just let go. When she caught her reflection in the mirror she paused for a second to scruff up her hair, giving herself a more punk look as she scrunched up her lip and sang along with the song lyrics, trying to impersonate a meaner person than she really was.

  “Butcher baby you're dressed to kill. Butcher baby I know you will. Butcher baby today is the day. Butcher baby they're gonna put you away” As she continued to shake her head to the tune she began to unbutton her shirt. Halfway down she tore it open and flung it across the room, revealing a black bra. This didn’t stay on long either and within a millisecond she was topless and dancing toward the leather couch.

  She jumped up onto the couch and watched herself in the mirror. She ran her hands down her perfect body as she slid her thumbs into her tight jeans. She slid them around to the front and undid the button. Within seconds she wiggled out of those until all that was left was thong underwear, which didn’t last. Now, completely naked, she jumped off the couch and started head banging to the music.

  The whole time she was ignorant of the eyes observing her. The three men were in a parking garage adjacent to her apartment and watched her through a set of binoculars. The only thing she was aware of was the sound of the congested traffic in Memphis, background ambience drowned out by the punk song. It was so loud that it took a few seconds before she noticed the heavy knocking on the door. It wasn’t until the door was almost off the hinges did she reach over and turn down the volume. She ran to the door and cracked it open, sticking her head out to shield her naked body.

  It was her neighbor from down the hall. He peered at her through his Dolce and Gabbana eye glasses as he shot her an inquisitive look. “Hello Debbie, I hate to be a bother.”

  “George, sweetheart, you’re never a bother. I apologize; I get a little carried away.” He understood. He couldn’t imagine how she could go through life with a smile after what she had been through. Sure, being a homosexual in backwoods Tennessee had its share of torture but it was nothing compared to what this girl went through. He honestly felt bad even asking her to turn down the music, if anyone had a right to blare music it was her.

  “Well nice to meet see you Debbie’s head, but where’s the rest of her?”

  “Well Georgie I am naked and I know how you are oh, so grossed out by the female form.”

  “Well, naked and listening to The Plasmatics in the middle of the day on high volume…do I sense a little lesbian dissidence here? My gaydar is going off.”

  “No George, I still like dick.”

  “See we got something in common.” He responded with wide eyes and a limp wrist raised to his mouth in a how dare I say that manner. She smiled and shook her head.

  “You mean to tell me that you don’t like this?” She swung the door open. George played along and pretended to act like a vampire reacting negatively to sunlight. He hissed and moaned as he dropped to the floor. He held his fingers out in the sign of a cross.

  “My eyes, my poor fagot eyes.” He cried out as Debbie stood there laughing.

  “Holy shit!” There was the sound of a boy, a boy she knew all too well. His name was Toby. He was a fat little twelve year old who also lived in this apartment building. He now stood in the hallway with three other dice throwing Dungeon and Dragon friends. All four boys stood there with their jaws hung open.

  George jumped up and acted like a shield for her. “Don’t look, it’s evil and will corrupt you!” He joked.

  “Sorry kids! George I’ll turn the music down.”

  “No problem, just hide your dirty pillows before they corrupt a mind of another pre-teen boy. Before you know it they will be jacking their little pecker in the bathroom. It will be chaos.”

  The door slammed and Debbie pressed against the door laughing hysterically. George was a great friend of hers, they both worked at a barista downtown called The Bean Room. They shared a love for trashy horror movies, dancing and even had the same taste in guys. Since she returned home she made an instant connection with him.

  He’d recognized her from the News. Many did in fact, but he didn’t approach her for this reason. He claimed it was because he sensed a soul that was broken, detached from society and in desperate need of a friend. The truth was, however, he saw her flirting with Jaime Champs, a local boy he wanted. He d
ecided it would be a challenge to steal the straight boy from a beautiful but emotional basket case.

  Jaime Champs turned out to be total straight after all with no chance of hopping the fence. It was a waste of time for them both. To Debbie he was just like the thirty or so other men she dated since returning home to find out her husband had re-married. No one even told her this, not a warning. She found out when she returned to the house they shared to find a new woman living there. Son of a bitch, how long did he really wait? There was a four month old infant in the house. She had been gone for nearly three years in total.

  She couldn’t blame him; she couldn’t blame anybody except for herself. She was a young soldier with a head full of patriotic horseshit and dreams of becoming something bigger. Who was she thinking she was, fucking Rambo? She left the FOB that morning and it was during a rest point where she wandered too far out. She saw a rifle in the sand. What a cool trophy she thought. It wasn’t until the buttsock of another AK-47 smacked the back of her head did she realize she was a fucking idiot.

  How long did he wait?

  Long enough she supposed.

  ***

  “She is very beautiful, I must say. Her breasts are exquisite, her tone well maintained. She must have hit the gym hard after returning to America.” Tanner felt the erection in his pants growing. This was not because he was sexually turned on by her amazing body; no this would be the emotions of a normal person. He was aroused as he pictured her screaming with him on top of her choking the life from her.

  No, you are to use stones this time.

  He had to admit that he thought the stone thing was a little lame, but the rest of the plan was coming along pretty good. Pat even decided to lend his location of the body farm to stage this night. He had come out here with low expectations, but now he was ready.

  “Let me see her, does she shave?” Pat hollered as he pulled the binoculars. His jaw dropped as he slowly placed his hand down the front of his pants. “My god, she is hot!”

  “Motherfuck!” Chad yelled as he slapped Pat on the back of the head. He dropped the binoculars and turned to him.