Chapter 13
I opened all the apartment windows, and stepped out onto the verandah to get
fresh air. The fumes inside had given me a head rush. I tried to plan my next
few moves, and looked across the black void to help me focus. Concentrate. I
looked up into the night sky and wondered if any astronauts were looking down,
trying to make contact from their broken down space capsules. Could they throw
a paper jet into space with SOS scrawled on it? It would take too long. You
would just have to sit in there, cramped, with fuck all options. I was
terrified of having no options.
I wished I could phone my mother for advice. She was always advising my sisters
what to do in times of trouble. I had been on unsteady terms with my sisters
for many years. I’m not really sure why. I guess we were a fractured and broken
family, and nothing could ever change that fact.
My youngest sister, Gennifer, was bipolar. She was Daddy’s little girl.
Spoiled. I guess it was not her fault that she became highly unstable and
married fuckheads.
Her only son, Jules, was a psychopath who would grow up to be a gangster hit
man. A nasty piece of work. Two metres tall and heavyset. He had a short-fuse
temper like his ex-mafia father. He mixed with gangland bouncers, some of whom
were implicated in the assisted suicide of a controversial mining boss.
Gennifer was cut down in the prime of her life by a drug crazed husband with a
44 Magnum. Her skull was spattered into hundreds of fragments. She had visited
her local police station the day before, to tell them of her fears; that her
husband was trigger happy; that he was a cocaine addict and that he had
threatened to shoot her if she ever left him. She wanted to leave him. The
police told her not to worry, that she was over-thinking things, to go home,
pack her bags and leave. Bad fucking advice as it turned out.
Mommy was in the next room, chain smoking. She seemed to get over the tragedy
quite quickly. I could imagine Mommy, sitting on her bed, chain smoking and
eating the end of her cigarette ash.
She would wet-lick the tip of her finger and tip the ash ball, then eat the ash
that stuck to her finger.
I wonder if she even flinched.
My older sister was the victim of an unloving and bullying father. Sherry was a
kind girl. Soft hearted and without a bad bone in her body. Father was mean and
cruel to her. Basically, he was a bastard.
An emotionless, uncaring, hurtful, womanising, wife and child-beating piece of
shit. But I loved him, even though he hurt me emotionally. He couldn’t hurt me
physically. I had learned to absorb pain and think of the bigger picture before
I turned thirteen.
He wounded my soul many times over. In the end I forgave him for my part, but
never from Sherry’s part.
A picture of my mother floated into my head. Mommy was reading a magazine. I
was a little boy then. Only six years old. I had been temporarily suspended
from the Holy Rosary Convent. The nuns said I had a black heart. I can’t
remember why. It still hurts me today when I think of it. How cruel, to tell a
six year old that he has a black heart.
Hairy legged old bitches.
But back to Mommy. She was reading a magazine. I had a mind-numbing toothache.
Mommy was ignoring my pain. She didn’t even look up from her magazine. I was
simply a nuisance factor. I threw myself backwards and somersaulted. I was
never able to do that again for some reason.
Mommy said, “Knock yourself out, kid.” I ran to my room and dived onto my bed
in pain and rage. Then I cried. I cried till the pain dulled. My blankets
smelled mouldy. I didn’t like my bed. It sagged. It had urine stains when it
came from the second-hand shop.
I felt like an unwanted pet. Like a cat that pissed on the furniture.
I slithered under my bed and found my plastic horse. It was blue.
Why the fuck would anyone make a blue plastic horse?
Focus, Kevin, focus. I repeated the
phrase until my mind cleared.
I had to get away. But I had a car and a motorcycle. The car was too obvious.
The bike meant travelling light. Oh, Jesus. No good choices left. I decided to
drive the laden Alfa to the outskirts of a small town approximately a hundred
miles away, burn it in a field, jog unseen into town, and catch a train back
home. Then hit the road on my Honda motorcycle.
Okay. That seemed like a good plan.
Get moving, Kevin.
Chapter 14
I pulled off onto a dirt road and drove about two hundred yards. The stillness
of the night was unnerving. It was around three a.m. I had to pick up the pace.
I restarted the Alfa, opened the bonnet and sliced through the rubber fuel pipe
with my Leatherman-Wave. Fuel spurted out, soaking the engine compartment.
Shit. All over my arms as well. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I stood back and waved my arms in windmill style for a few seconds. The engine
died. I lit a match, opened the box and then lit the lot. I threw the hissing
box into the engine compartment. A loud ‘whoof’ nearly blew me off my feet. I
picked up my rucksack and started to run. I ran the first few miles through ploughed
lands, parallel to and about two hundred yards from the road. I ran and I ran.
My military training in the paratroops was always good for me in many ways. I
had stamina, strength, and the will to get the fuck away as fast as possible
and to demolish anyone that stood in my way.
By the time I got back to my apartment in downtown Johannesburg, dawn was
rising over the concrete horizon. I was cold and smelled of sweat, petrol and
adrenaline. I stepped into the apartment, resisting a strong urge to shower.
The cockroach was still lying on its back. So that shit about them surviving
nuclear holocausts was only urban legend.
I picked up my camping backpack and left. I rode slowly out of Johannesburg, taking
an indirect route eastwards. Eastwards towards Swaziland and Mozambique. I
would decide later. For now, every mile of tarmac rolling under my wheels gave
me an increasing feeling of freedom and invincibility.
I kicked up the revs once I was clear out of the city. The Honda was singing a
glorious melody, and I felt that perhaps things would work out well after all.
I started to sing to myself.
Four and twenty years ago
I come into this life
son of a woman and a man who lived in strife
He was tired
of being born
and he wasn’t even selling
door to door
Morning comes the sunrise,
And I'm driven to my bed
I see that it is empty
And there's devils in my head.
I embrace the many coloured beast.
I grow weary of this torment
Can there be no release
And I find myself just wishing
that my life would simply cease
It was a Stephen Stills song that I had mangled, and loved singing in the
shower from the first time I ever heard it sometime back in 1970. Often I
misheard lyrics and substituted words. So
what.
This song encapsulated my life. It was
written for me.
I pulled into a large holiday complex near to a T- junction, where one chose to
go to either Swaziland, or Mozambique. It was big enough to melt into, and small
enough to keep a check on developments.
I paid for a week upfront, in cash, from my Butterfly Bar stash. I counted my
money and locked it in the room safe. Then I went and parked the Honda behind
the utility rooms where it would not be easily noticed. I paid the old
night-watch man a small fortune to wash her and watch her for a few days. He
was delighted about the cash, but still asked me for cigarettes. I needed a
friend, so I gave the old bastard a few more coins to buy smokes.
I showered to cleanse my body. Then I ran a deep bath and lay soaking, trying
to cleanse my soul. Closed eyes. Trying to think. Trying to make sense of the
senseless. Trying to force my inner demons out where God could see them and
smite them. But what if he had bad aim and smote me as well. Was there such a
word as ‘smote?’ or was it ‘smited?’ Better to leave God out of the equation at
this point. For me, God posed more questions than he could provide solutions. Where
was God when that Hitler bastard wanted to rape me? Where was God when
Gennifer’s husband pulled a 44 Magnum on her? Where was God when you really
needed him?
I lay in the tub, sweating. I wanted the poison to leach from my brain, down my
spine and out through my skin.
I was essentially a good person. A kind person. All I ever wanted was to love someone and be
loved in return. I wanted to be married, to a pretty girl with a ponytail and
she would smile and touch my face. We would have pretty blonde children and go
on picnics to the zoo. We would ride our bicycles, like a real family, through
the park. We would park our bikes and spread a blanket, to eat a packed lunch
of roast chicken sandwiches with individually packed bottles of mayonnaise and
Branston pickle.
The picnic blanket would be black, so that you could see the edges clearly
against the bright green grass. On the blanket we would lay a gingham table
cloth, with matching serviettes. We would have a bottle of champagne. The
children would have litchi juice.
Our first born would be Steven. A strapping boy. He would be the apple of
everyone’s eye. He would help old ladies to carry their heavy grocery bags. He
would be polite and never fight. Not unless he had to, but if he did then he
would be a tornado. That thought mulled in my head for minutes. I changed it.
Decided I didn’t like the name Steven.
In fact, Steven seemed to be a bit of a ponce. I went back to my headspace.
Steven’s new name was Butch. Nobody fucked with Butch. Yes. Butch would work. I
lay in the bath and planned Butch’s life down to the finest detail.
The bath was long and wide. The hot water supply was seemingly endless. I
watched steam form condensation on the ceramic wall tiles and then rivulets,
running back down into the bath. The process was ongoing. Like the circle of
life. Birth. Death. Rebirth. I was bathing in the circle of life.
I was being cleansed of sin.
I would find my Barbie wife. We would perform the cloacal kiss and we would
have our Butchie boy.
I need to explain that the whole intercourse performance didn’t really appeal
to me in the way it did to other people. I liked the chase, the hunt, the kill.
Having sexual intercourse was extremely personal. You had to look into
someone’s eyes and give away your inner self, your inner emotions. You had to
expose your soul and your truth. Women would take advantage of you, abuse your
kindness and then ultimately ignore you.
They would ignore me just like Mommy did. Cold-hearted Mommy. Why didn’t she
love me?
Chapter 15
The warm water enveloped me. I felt safe. An unborn foetus in its mother’s
womb.
I lay soaking in a pleasant dream state for nearly an hour.
Three sharp knocks on the room door brought me rapidly out of my trance. I
panicked, trying to plan an escape. There was no back door. No side windows. No
escape route. I wondered if they were pointing rifles at the door, like SWAT
cops. Dressed in camouflage outfits, with kevlar jackets, steel helmets,
nervously poised. I wondered if they were excited, like predators about to move
in for the kill. I wondered if they too were a bit scared. I wondered how many
they were ... what their names were ... if they had wives and children ... if
they had pets ... probably they had dogs with macho names. Would they give me a
chance, or would they simply go for a fatal shot?
“Maid service.” It was a woman’s voice. My heart rate slowed from around two
hundred beats per minute down to one hundred. My self-preservation mindset
moved from Defcon 5 to Defcon 2.
I shouted back, “Hold on. I’ll only be a minute.”
I wrapped a massive towel around myself and, still behind the bathroom door, I
called out, “OK, you can come in now.”
I heard the front door open, and heard a female voice humming softly. I heard
the room door shut. I breathed quiet and shallow, listening intently and trying
to identify the movements on the other side of the bathroom door. The door was
a hollow core type. Cheap and lightweight.
It wouldn’t stop a potato thrown in anger. Who throws potatoes? Why did
I think of potatoes?
I heard the sounds of sweeping and the clattering of items in the small kitchenette
area. She was still humming.
I peeped through the bathroom door keyhole. The chambermaid was a curvy, young
African woman dressed in a crisp pink uniform. She had a pleasing body shape
and long lithe legs. She wore a tight fitting headscarf, also in crisp pink.
She turned around. Although I had previously never fancied black women, this
lady was something quite special.
She leaned over to pull off the bedding. Her dress rode high up and I saw her
firm thighs exposed. She leaned further and I caught a glimpse of pink panties
stretched over her bulging womanhood. My chest started heaving. My mind was
racing. Focus Kevin, focus. Stop.
I felt my pressure against the tight towelling. Sane thoughts were leaving me.
I stepped out of the bathroom. The young woman was startled. She said, “Sorry
sir. I will come back later.”
I said, “No’, you can carry on. Do what you have to do. No problem.”
I could see she was uncertain, perhaps even slightly afraid, but decided to do
as the guest suggested.
She carried on making the bed, seemingly not knowing that every time she leaned
over she was putting herself on display for me. I liked it. I liked it a lot.
“Anyway, my name is Danny. What’s your name?”
She said, “My name is Beauty, sir.”
“Your name suits you, because you are very beautiful.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Please call me Danny. Not sir.”
She giggled nervously and resumed making the bed, obviously uncomfortable with
the interaction.
“How old are you, Beauty?”
“Me, I’m twenty years old next month.”
“Are you going to have a party?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I haven’t got the money for a party.”
“Beauty, I’m going to give you one thousand rand, so that you can have a party.
You must have a party.” I was going to break down all her possible resistance
with a wad of cash. I wanted to see her naked. I wanted to smell her body. I
wanted to smell her cocktail of fear and hormones.
She looked at me in a mix of amazement and bewilderment. I opened the safe and
counted out a thousand rand. I walked slowly towards her, right up close to
her. She had the bed behind her and could not move away. I held the wad of
notes against her breast and simultaneously sucked my stomach in, causing my
towel to slowly drop to the floor.
Beauty looked down at the wad of notes. I saw her focus shift to my erection.
Then she looked me in the eyes and said, “Thank you, Danny.”
I gently pulled Beauty down onto the bed. She didn’t resist. I started to kiss
her cheek, moving slowly towards her full, ripe lips. She didn’t resist but at
the same time she was not too enthusiastic.
I put my hand on her breast and kneaded it gently. She began to moan softly,
perhaps in protest.
I kissed her full on the lips. She began to respond by kissing me in return,
but more like greeting pecks. I started undressing her. She looked at me with
pleading eyes. “Please can I go, Danny?”
I said, “Not yet. We have to finish the deal. We have to make love. We have to
love each other.”
By then I had her uniform open. I put my
arms around her and unclipped her brassiere. Her eyes followed mine and my hand
movements, almost trance-like. I had my left arm around her, holding her left
shoulder firmly. I slid my right hand down into her panties and into her groin.
That’s when she resisted.
I felt her warm, moist folds and pushed my index finger into her. I thought she
would like that.
Beauty tried to sit up. She said, “No. We can’t do this. Please let me go.”
I pulled her back down and forced her legs apart with my knee. She tried to sit
up again and started to scream. I punched her on the left temple, leaving her
temporarily dazed. Holding her arms on her chest, I pulled her one knee up and
felt myself enter the being of this dark beauty below me.
I sat on Beauty, watching her slip slowly back into consciousness. As she again
became aware of her circumstances, a low animal-like sound came out of her,
gaining in volume and pitch. Jesus. Was she mad? The entire resort would be at my door in minutes.
I put my hands over her mouth to stifle her screams. She bit deeply into my
hand. I grunted in pain.
I let go with my injured hand. Beauty grabbed at my face. She scratched my
chest, drawing blood.
She sucked in a deep breath, and let rip with a bloodcurdling scream. The
scream had hardly left her mouth when I had my hands around her throat,
shutting it down. Stopping the scream. I pressed my thumbs in deep and hard. I
saw absolute panic and fear in her eyes. Pleading eyes. Terrified eyes.
Sheer terror. I liked that.
Beauty’s struggling became subdued. Her eyes began to close. It was time. I
climaxed. My semen arced through the air onto Beauty’s chest. I was proud of my
trajectory. I was more talented than an Olympic archer.
I continued squeezing until I was spent and Beauty was past tense. I thanked
her and lay next to her, drifting in and out of contented sleep, for some
twenty minutes.
I woke up, startled. Beauty was starting to stiffen and I had to get rid of
her. I cleaned her body with the sanitizers she had brought into the room. She
looked so neat and perfect when I had finished dressing her.
I smeared a dab of floor polish on her
neck to disguise the bruising that had become apparent.
I sat Beauty upright on a flimsy metal dining chair and tied her to it with the
pull-out wash line.
I wanted her body to ‘set’ in the
sitting position.
I packed my bags and got ready to move, waiting nervously while the daylight
hours slowly turned to nightfall. Why does trouble always seem to follow me?
Why can’t I have a normal life? Why must this shit always happen to me? Life is
so unfair. All I ever wanted was a Barbie wife, and cute blonde children.
I walked to the night-watchman, gave him two cigarettes, and asked him to get
me another packet of cigarettes from the convenience store located on the
opposite side of the complex. I told him to buy a pack for himself and waited
till he was out of sight.
I rode the Honda back to the room, parking just outside the door. I tied my
baggage on the carrier. I hauled Beauty outside and put her on the pillion. I
tied her legs to the bike frame and her torso around my luggage. I tied her
arms with her hands on her thighs. I put my helmet on her and she looked quite
natural. Her head hardly moved, as rigor mortis had set in firmly. Taking care
not to cause Beauty to wobble, I pulled off and slowly drove out the complex
and onto the main road towards Swaziland.
I had cruised some fifteen miles when I saw a dirt track leading off the main
road, into what appeared to be forest land. I drove along the track for approximately
fifty yards then cut the lights and the engine. I listened for any sounds of
civilisation. All I could hear was the buzzing of insects and a far away dog-like
howl.
I untied Beauty, and hauled her over my shoulder into the darkness. There was
sufficient moonlight to follow the track, which had a ravine leading off one
side. “This is it, Beauty,” I mumbled to her. ,,
I laid her on the ground, removed my helmet and pushed her into the ravine. I
heard the rustling of her rolling body for several seconds and then there was silence.
The cicadas restarted their shrill buzz, a signal that all disturbance had
ceased. I walked back a few yards, stopped and urinated into the long grass.
A few minutes later I was back on my bike. Trying to focus. Should I go to Swaziland?
Should I go to Mozambique? Where will I stop running? When will I stop running?
Should I instead go to a city and try to blend in under an assumed name?
Chapter 16
Thoughts of Karma-Jane crept into my mind. It’s
all that bitch’s fault, I thought. All her fault. I shook my head slowly.
That was a lie. It wasn’t her fault. There were others before her. All bitches,
though.
All trouble- making bitches. Fucking bitches. They all tried to ruin my life.
But Karma-Jane could have been the special one. I even opened up my feelings to
her and she literally kicked me in the teeth and called me a crazy bastard.
Fuck her. My mind clouded. I could see Karma-Jane in front of me. Her slender,
graceful, beautiful neck, with two very cute freckles on the left side. She
also had light freckles on her nose and cheeks. She had a gorgeous face and
perfect teeth. Her breath smelled like caramel toffees. She was strong and proud. A good runner. I
was amazed at how fast she ran. I wondered if she was a proper athlete.
My mind was in overdrive. I could see Karma-Jane in her tight running shorts.
Light blue shorts. Tight in the groin. A white vest, with her nipples like
buttons. Dark blue Nike trainers. Hair tied back in a ponytail. The starter’s
gun fired. She took off like a cheetah. Her strides got longer and longer, her
legs began to stretch until they were longer than her body. She tripped and
rolled into a ball and lay on the ground like a crumpled heap of laundry. Then
she just melted away. I picked up the ball of clothing and smelled it.
It smelled like fabric softener. Pine-scented fabric softener. Just like the
plastic sachet that Sheila Levy kept under the front seat of her silver BMW
convertible. Or, as Sheila insisted, “a cabriolet, not a convertible.” A
spoiled little daddy’s girl. A bit of a cow actually.
Monday, June 3, 2013
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Chapters 9, 10, 11, 12 Copyright
Chapter 9
While driving up a long hill road, I asked her if she would like to come back to my place for a night cap. I had no doubt that she would agree and jump at the opportunity. In my peripheral vision I saw her stiffen. Her giggly voice toned down somewhat. She said, “Err no, well I have to get up really early, and my Dad will freak if I’m not home quite soon.”
I felt slighted. Insulted. Hurt. Angry. Ungrateful bitch. I saw my future go up in flames. How could she do this to me? I bit back my disappointment, and thought I should try a different tack.
I said, “Don’t be shy. I can feel that you like me. I like you. I like you a lot. In fact, I think it was love at first sight. Let’s not fight it.”
She sat bolt upright. I sensed her panic, and I panicked, and I wasn’t sure where I had stuffed this up, but for sure things weren’t working out the way I wanted.
“Stop the car, please. I want to get out.”
“Oh. Okay then, forget it. Forget that I asked. I’ll just take you home.” She must have heard me mumble ‘bitch’ under my breath, because she opened the door at forty mph.
Instinctively, I hit the brakes. Before the car had come to a full stop, she was trying to get out. I grabbed her by the back of her jacket, held her tightly and turned off the road into the long grass.
I went silent. I had such hopes that night. My heart was breaking.
I thought about how I could have done things differently that night. Why, how, did I continually stuff up? I started to drift off into my deep secret thoughts. Obviously for too long.
Chapter 10
“Carry on, Kevin ... “
“Oh. Yes. I was just trying to remember all the details. Sorry.”
I transferred my grip on her and grabbed her firmly by the hair. I didn’t want to hurt her, but it couldn’t end like this. I pushed her out the door and climbed out after her. It was quite a clumsy manoeuvre, and unfortunately I jerked her head back a few times, accidentally. Her fear turned to anger and she swore at me. Karma-Jane swore at me.
My heart’s desire called me a ‘fucking crazy bastard.’
I tripped. She broke free and ran. She ran like a gazelle fleeing from a cheetah. She had kicked her shoes off, hiked up her skirt and she was peddling. Jesus, she was quick. My left shoe came off and I stumbled. I dug deep and made up a few yards. Then I dive tackled Karma-Jane. It happened in slow motion.
My right arm is a bit longer than my left arm. I don’t know why. It’s just like that. I reached out with my right hand and caught her by her sweater collar. Her gait slowed, and my body bunched up behind her. The force of my momentum took her down. I ended up on top. I squatted over her and put my hands around her neck.
I tried to rectify the situation. I didn’t want trouble. That’s all. I really just didn’t want any trouble.
Chapter 11
My thoughts drifted back and back. I went to my private headspace:
Karma-Jane was a big mistake and a learning curve. It’s kind of ironic that some of us only see the error of our ways when it is already far too late to change direction. My error was sloppiness. I had managed to stay out of trouble for several years until now. For me, staying out of trouble meant avoiding the law. Do what you have to do, but just don’t get caught.
I never went back to the bar. I had never filled a job application form and as far as I could remember, never even gave them my surname or contact details. It was a temporary job that evolved into a permanent position.
I was safe for a while, but I had to do a runner. Maybe move back to Cape Town, but Cape Town was probably too soon for my return. I thought about going up north, to a small rural town near the Zimbabwean border. The border was porous. If things got tight, I could skip the country.
My mind went on a frolic. I saw myself in faded dungarees, pitch forking hay onto a trailer. A nimble blonde girl by my side, laughing and pitching hay. Her hair looks like it’s been fixed with lacquer. As she sways from side to side her hair moves as if it’s solid. Like a Barbie doll. Her elbows are fixed.
Fuck it, she is a Barbie doll. I change the picture. Now she has a ponytail, swishing as she dances with her hay fork. Her jeans transform to a plaid skirt. She’s wearing a thin blouse. Her pert breasts embed her nipples into the cotton. I lean forward, placing one hand on a breast and move in close to kiss her. She pulls back, her smile changing to a reprimanding frown. I push my pitchfork into her chest and she expires like a popped balloon.
I struggled to regain control of my senses. I pictured myself lying naked in the snow, shivering. Clear thought control came back to me. Too small a town would probably be too risky. I would stand out easily. A racing red Alfa would also be noticed and remembered too easily. I discarded the whole small-town, hay pitching idea.
It dawned on me that the Alfa, one of my prized possessions, was now an albatross around my neck.
Why did I always have to part with the things I loved?
I pushed my face into my hands and wept. Life can be so cruel. I wasn’t a bad person. Life had let me down. Fuck the world. Mommy was going to be disappointed again, so disappointed.
I breathed in deeply, and held my breath until it felt that my lungs would burst. It helped me to think, concentrate. Focus.
I had to go now. They say the first forty eight hours are the most critical. I was forty eight hours in and feeling jumpy.
Chapter 12
It was nearly midnight. A Sunday night. I rode to the twenty-four hour mall on my other prized possession, a Honda K1. The first of the superbikes. I had it re-sprayed in candy apple red metallic, with gunmetal and chrome detailing. The engine had been modified. I remember the night I worked through to sunrise, fitting a Yoshimura 4-into-1 exhaust, all by myself. I loved that bike. It sounded like a real racer. It screamed.
I kept the revs down low on my way to the mall, not wanting to attract unnecessary attention.
I filled my backpack with bleach and clear aerosol lacquer spray. The bleach to obliterate any of my DNA in the apartment, and the lacquer to prevent the lifting of any remaining fingerprints on obvious places. I thought it was a brilliant idea.
It was a small apartment. A yellow coloured box. No pictures. No frills. I packed and cleared my belongings into the Alfa within forty-five minutes.
Then I sprayed the entire surface area of the place as best I could with diluted bleach. All over the mattress. Both sides.
After I had given the cupboards, doors and obvious touch surfaces a bleach and wipe, I sprayed aerosol lacquer as a further precaution. Anything trapped under solidified lacquer could not be detected or used. Cops would never realise how Kevin Adams had left no trace.
As I said my name to myself, I realised that if the cops came to my apartment, they would also get my basic details from the lease rental contract. I had momentarily forgotten that little fact. Shit.
Well, I wouldn’t make it easy for them.
A cockroach scrambled across the floor, disturbed from its resting place by the overpowering smell of bleach and aerosol solvent. Black with yellow markings. I’ve always been fascinated by cockroaches. They look kind of prehistoric. Their heads are like little armoured cockpits, with little engineers inside barking out orders, pressing buttons and turning up the mechanicals. I wondered if it is true that cockroaches could survive a nuclear holocaust. This one wouldn’t. I sprayed it with lacquer. It slowed down and battled to move its legs as the lacquer dried.
“Watch paint dry, sucker.” I laughed loudly. The roach flipped onto its back and lay wriggling. I wondered why they do that. Spray them with pesticides and they flip over. Not a fall over. A determined flip over. Weird, that.
While driving up a long hill road, I asked her if she would like to come back to my place for a night cap. I had no doubt that she would agree and jump at the opportunity. In my peripheral vision I saw her stiffen. Her giggly voice toned down somewhat. She said, “Err no, well I have to get up really early, and my Dad will freak if I’m not home quite soon.”
I felt slighted. Insulted. Hurt. Angry. Ungrateful bitch. I saw my future go up in flames. How could she do this to me? I bit back my disappointment, and thought I should try a different tack.
I said, “Don’t be shy. I can feel that you like me. I like you. I like you a lot. In fact, I think it was love at first sight. Let’s not fight it.”
She sat bolt upright. I sensed her panic, and I panicked, and I wasn’t sure where I had stuffed this up, but for sure things weren’t working out the way I wanted.
“Stop the car, please. I want to get out.”
“Oh. Okay then, forget it. Forget that I asked. I’ll just take you home.” She must have heard me mumble ‘bitch’ under my breath, because she opened the door at forty mph.
Instinctively, I hit the brakes. Before the car had come to a full stop, she was trying to get out. I grabbed her by the back of her jacket, held her tightly and turned off the road into the long grass.
I went silent. I had such hopes that night. My heart was breaking.
I thought about how I could have done things differently that night. Why, how, did I continually stuff up? I started to drift off into my deep secret thoughts. Obviously for too long.
Chapter 10
“Carry on, Kevin ... “
“Oh. Yes. I was just trying to remember all the details. Sorry.”
I transferred my grip on her and grabbed her firmly by the hair. I didn’t want to hurt her, but it couldn’t end like this. I pushed her out the door and climbed out after her. It was quite a clumsy manoeuvre, and unfortunately I jerked her head back a few times, accidentally. Her fear turned to anger and she swore at me. Karma-Jane swore at me.
My heart’s desire called me a ‘fucking crazy bastard.’
I tripped. She broke free and ran. She ran like a gazelle fleeing from a cheetah. She had kicked her shoes off, hiked up her skirt and she was peddling. Jesus, she was quick. My left shoe came off and I stumbled. I dug deep and made up a few yards. Then I dive tackled Karma-Jane. It happened in slow motion.
My right arm is a bit longer than my left arm. I don’t know why. It’s just like that. I reached out with my right hand and caught her by her sweater collar. Her gait slowed, and my body bunched up behind her. The force of my momentum took her down. I ended up on top. I squatted over her and put my hands around her neck.
I tried to rectify the situation. I didn’t want trouble. That’s all. I really just didn’t want any trouble.
Chapter 11
My thoughts drifted back and back. I went to my private headspace:
Karma-Jane was a big mistake and a learning curve. It’s kind of ironic that some of us only see the error of our ways when it is already far too late to change direction. My error was sloppiness. I had managed to stay out of trouble for several years until now. For me, staying out of trouble meant avoiding the law. Do what you have to do, but just don’t get caught.
I never went back to the bar. I had never filled a job application form and as far as I could remember, never even gave them my surname or contact details. It was a temporary job that evolved into a permanent position.
I was safe for a while, but I had to do a runner. Maybe move back to Cape Town, but Cape Town was probably too soon for my return. I thought about going up north, to a small rural town near the Zimbabwean border. The border was porous. If things got tight, I could skip the country.
My mind went on a frolic. I saw myself in faded dungarees, pitch forking hay onto a trailer. A nimble blonde girl by my side, laughing and pitching hay. Her hair looks like it’s been fixed with lacquer. As she sways from side to side her hair moves as if it’s solid. Like a Barbie doll. Her elbows are fixed.
Fuck it, she is a Barbie doll. I change the picture. Now she has a ponytail, swishing as she dances with her hay fork. Her jeans transform to a plaid skirt. She’s wearing a thin blouse. Her pert breasts embed her nipples into the cotton. I lean forward, placing one hand on a breast and move in close to kiss her. She pulls back, her smile changing to a reprimanding frown. I push my pitchfork into her chest and she expires like a popped balloon.
I struggled to regain control of my senses. I pictured myself lying naked in the snow, shivering. Clear thought control came back to me. Too small a town would probably be too risky. I would stand out easily. A racing red Alfa would also be noticed and remembered too easily. I discarded the whole small-town, hay pitching idea.
It dawned on me that the Alfa, one of my prized possessions, was now an albatross around my neck.
Why did I always have to part with the things I loved?
I pushed my face into my hands and wept. Life can be so cruel. I wasn’t a bad person. Life had let me down. Fuck the world. Mommy was going to be disappointed again, so disappointed.
I breathed in deeply, and held my breath until it felt that my lungs would burst. It helped me to think, concentrate. Focus.
I had to go now. They say the first forty eight hours are the most critical. I was forty eight hours in and feeling jumpy.
Chapter 12
It was nearly midnight. A Sunday night. I rode to the twenty-four hour mall on my other prized possession, a Honda K1. The first of the superbikes. I had it re-sprayed in candy apple red metallic, with gunmetal and chrome detailing. The engine had been modified. I remember the night I worked through to sunrise, fitting a Yoshimura 4-into-1 exhaust, all by myself. I loved that bike. It sounded like a real racer. It screamed.
I kept the revs down low on my way to the mall, not wanting to attract unnecessary attention.
I filled my backpack with bleach and clear aerosol lacquer spray. The bleach to obliterate any of my DNA in the apartment, and the lacquer to prevent the lifting of any remaining fingerprints on obvious places. I thought it was a brilliant idea.
It was a small apartment. A yellow coloured box. No pictures. No frills. I packed and cleared my belongings into the Alfa within forty-five minutes.
Then I sprayed the entire surface area of the place as best I could with diluted bleach. All over the mattress. Both sides.
After I had given the cupboards, doors and obvious touch surfaces a bleach and wipe, I sprayed aerosol lacquer as a further precaution. Anything trapped under solidified lacquer could not be detected or used. Cops would never realise how Kevin Adams had left no trace.
As I said my name to myself, I realised that if the cops came to my apartment, they would also get my basic details from the lease rental contract. I had momentarily forgotten that little fact. Shit.
Well, I wouldn’t make it easy for them.
A cockroach scrambled across the floor, disturbed from its resting place by the overpowering smell of bleach and aerosol solvent. Black with yellow markings. I’ve always been fascinated by cockroaches. They look kind of prehistoric. Their heads are like little armoured cockpits, with little engineers inside barking out orders, pressing buttons and turning up the mechanicals. I wondered if it is true that cockroaches could survive a nuclear holocaust. This one wouldn’t. I sprayed it with lacquer. It slowed down and battled to move its legs as the lacquer dried.
“Watch paint dry, sucker.” I laughed loudly. The roach flipped onto its back and lay wriggling. I wondered why they do that. Spray them with pesticides and they flip over. Not a fall over. A determined flip over. Weird, that.
Chapters 5,6,7,8 Copyright
Chapter
5
The overall was crisp. It smelled of carbolic soap. A smell I knew all too well. My mind drifted back to the time I spent in Eden Valley Reform School for Boys. Eden Valley was no Eden. It was a hellhole run by sadistic paedophiles who absolutely loved their ‘careers’. I remember the dull cement walls, unpainted. The plain cement floors, shiny, polished every day by the unwilling guests of the state. I don’t think there was even one warder ‘housemaster’ that didn’t sport some kind of physical deformity. The head warden was secretly called Mister Hitler. If he heard anyone say Hitler, there would be a meting out of cruel and unusual (but very usual at Eden Valley) punishment, usually ending with the perpetrator having the choice of giving Hitler anal or oral pleasure.
Mr Hiller, (aka Mr Hitler) had club feet and a replica Nazi moustache. He was thin, and walked with a strange limping gait. He had a huge Adam’s apple. It looked like a concealed twin was living in his neck. His eyes were thin dark slits. His eyes darted left and right continuously. It was best not to even try and make eye contact with him. If you did, you had to endure a tortuous line of questioning that started with, “Who you looking at?”; “Why are you looking at me?”; “Have you got something to get off your chest?” and would end with “Do you need punishment today?” Therefore most of us, except those who were weirder than Hitler, walked around with faces downcast and gaze averted.
Eden Valley was a den of sodomy. Not just between warders and inmates, but also in the dormitories and shower rooms. There were sadistic perverted bullies whom I am sure got sent to Eden Valley on purpose, so as to be confined with other misfits. I guess it kind of narrowed down the odds of rejection for them. You always had to sleep with one eye open and keep a blunt weapon near to hand, for the times when a raging poof tried to share your bed, or worse, when one of the sadistic sodomites tried to force themselves upon you. Disapproval had to be demonstrated quickly and efficiently. There was no sense of shame or desire for privacy. The misfits would engage in loud and semi-violent sex throughout the night. The word ‘promiscuity’ does not do justice to the goings on at Eden Valley.
From the time of arrival, I asserted myself and my heterosexuality by beating seven colours of shit out of the designated bully-in-chief, one Eddie Christie. Eddie tried to accost me in the showers, suggesting loudly that my duty was to satisfy him in any which way that he chose and whenever he chose it, unless of course I was desirous of having to give him this pleasure by the use of extreme force. I stunned Eddie with an unexpected lightning fast jab in the throat, followed by a left hook to his right eye area and a right hook to the side of his neck. As Eddie slid off the wall, I kicked him full in the face. His head snapped back and I punched down into his mouth. He was barely prone when I delivered two vicious kicks to his ribcage and a finale to his face.
When Eddie was released from hospital he was sent to another reformatory. I don’t know where.
All that mattered was that nobody ever tried that shit with me again, except Hitler. And Hitler was the reason I was eventually transferred from Eden Valley directly to big boys’ jail.
I had been at Eden Valley for about eight months. In all that time I managed to avoid Hitler, but eventually my day arrived. He was obviously on my scent, but could never isolate me. So he sent for me. One of the warders plucked me from my breakfast chair and marched me to Hitler’s lair. His office was smart, tidy and fastidiously neat, I thought. Creepy. Hitler got straight to the point. “I see you have been avoiding me, Kevin Adams. Why is that?” Jesus, I thought, how do I answer? What is the correct answer? Is there an answer?
“Uhm. No sir, I have not been avoiding you, sir. I have been trying to stay out of trouble, sir. Been trying to avoid trouble, sir.”
“Bullshit, man. Don’t come here into my office with bullshit. I hate bullshit. What do I hate?”
“Uhm, you hate bullshit, sir.”
“So then why do you try to give me bullshit, Kevin?”
“Sorry sir. I won’t do it again, sir.”
“What won’t you do again, Kevin? We haven’t even done it the first time yet and you’re already talking about the next time......mmmm?”
“I don’t know what to say, sir.”
“Let me help you, Kevin. Strip off your clothes and lay them on the chair there. It’s time for medical inspection.”
“Is the Doctor coming, sir?”
“No. I am the doctor, Kevin, and you are my patient. Strip off, and don’t give me bullshit, Kevin.”
Hitler stood up and walked from behind his desk towards me. He unzipped himself to expose a horrible looking, bent, purple penis. Erect.
“You strip, or you swallow. Kevin. Your choice.”
He put his hand on top of my head in a gesture of pushing my head down towards his groin. Mistake.
Instinctively I head-butted him and heard a cracking sound as his nose broke at the bridge. He looked amazed and dazed. I punched him in the throat. He went down choking and gasping. I kicked him so hard in his groin area that he sucked in air for what seemed an eternity, before he started to actually groan out loud. I gave him another kick in the ribs. Then another in his face.
Then I panicked. I looked around for inspiration. Plain brick walls, varnished. Parquet flooring. A cheap mat. A plastic trophy cup....what did this prick do to win anything. Focus. Focus. Oh God, my mind was scrambled. Eggs. Fuck eggs. Focus. Get out fast.
I opened Hitler’s office door and peered down the passage. Nobody in sight. Fear set in. I had just knocked crap out of the head of a reform school. The premises were surrounded by high walls with razor wire topping. Escape seemed impossible. I didn’t quite know what to do. I couldn’t return to my dormitory. There, I would be trapped.
My mind was considering possible hiding places. I needed somewhere to hide while I processed what had just happened, and how best I could get out of this. I mean, it’s not like the bastard never had it coming to him.
I briefly wondered how many boys he had sexually assaulted. He should have been in a girl’s reform school. How would that work? No it wouldn’t work. He wasn’t that way inclined. I quite fancied myself as the head of a girl’s reformatory. A fox in the chicken run. Like clubbing baby seals. I had to shake my head to clear my thoughts. No time to fantasise.
Focus. I had to focus. Hitler would be coming around soon, and wardens would be coming for me with pepper spray and firearms. I remembered my cousin Lindsay, undressing while I watched from inside her cupboard. She knew I was watching, but she was enjoying the tease....Focus. Jesus, what was happening to my mind? I was up to my ears in life-or-death stuff and I couldn’t keep my mind focussed.
I tried the side door to the chapel. It opened. I sneaked inside. Nobody around. I felt safer. Surely, nobody would hurt me in the house of God? Not that I would give them the same privilege if the chips were down. The pulpit was draped with a crimson drape. Probably to portray the blood of God, I thought. There was a crawl space underneath. I crammed myself inside and tried again to think of a plan. A plan to escape.
Chapter 6
I sat crumpled. Knees drawn up and hung my head between my knees. My thoughts drifted back to Lindsay. Her perfect breasts silhouetted against the soft silk of her bedroom curtains. I always thought of Lindsay as the one that got away. I wanted her. I wanted her to want me, but I also wanted to see her fear. In time it was the sight of their fear, the smell of their fear, the dying light in their eyes that I became addicted to. It was powerful foreplay. It drove me to insanity. The sex was just like, like putting a full stop at the end of a sentence.
For the first time during my Eden Valley stay, I heard a siren wind up. It sounded like an air raid siren in a World War Two movie. It started out like a low moan and built up to a wailing banshee. Oh Jesus.
I was in for shit. Ugly shit. The siren continued for what seemed an eternity. In reality, it was probably about ten minutes. Then there was silence. An eerie silence. Then muffled shouts. Then barking. Dogs. Then I knew for sure. No escape. No plan. I lose.
The dogs brought them straight to my hiding place. German shepherds and uniformed police. In a way, the police were a blessing. If the wardens had found me, I would have been messed up good and solid. I shouted out that I was unarmed and that I acted in self-defence. I kept repeating: I’m unarmed. He wanted to rape me. I’m unarmed. He wanted to rape me. I even pretended to be really traumatised and in a state of confusion. It worked. They thought I was cooked.
I addressed the guy in charge. The one with the most badges. I said, “Sir, Mr Hiller tried to put his penis in my mouth. He told me to undress. He pushed his erection at me and tried to force my head down. He threatened to rape me if I didn’t do it.”
The cop said, “We found him still unconscious with his pants half off. Your story sounds true, but you possibly went too far yourself.” Oh Jesus, had I killed Hitler? Surely not. I was handcuffed and led away to a police car, and taken to the local station and processed. While I was remanded in custody awaiting trial, Hitler succumbed. Apparently he had died of a heart attack, brought on by the beating.
I was given a twelve month sentence for aggravated assault with the possibility of parole after eight months. If it hadn’t been for my previous brushes with the law, I would have walked. Two previous convictions for unprovoked and aggravated assault didn’t help my case. But justice had been served.
The piece of shit Mr Hiller had paid the ultimate price for years of terrifying and assaulting boys and young men.
Chapter 7
“Get up, dog shit,” Moore barked at me, scaring me out of my wits and back into ugly reality. I stood up real quick, slightly off balance as a blood rush momentarily dimmed my senses. Moore held me by my throat and pushed me into the passage. “Cooper’s waiting for you. How he can stomach even the sight of you is a mystery. Psychologists, psychiatrists, psychopaths....you’re all fucking crazy. Move.”
Moore uncuffed me. Sat me down. Pulled my arms backwards and cuffed me to the chair. A heavy chair. Especially made for potentially dangerous suspects. Jesus, these guys think of everything.
Dr Cooper fixed me with a long searching gaze. He pushed his thick specs up his nose and took a deep breath. He was polite. Not friendly. I could tell that he didn’t like me. That hurt. Deep down, I was just like anybody else. I regarded myself as a sensitive being, a victim of my circumstances.
“Kevin, tell me about Karma-Jane. How did you meet?”
“Dr Cooper. I need to loosen up. I truly want to tell you everything.”
“What do you mean by loosen up?”
“Can you get me a triple Jack with a shot of lime?” Cooper leaned back in his chair and stared at me, unblinking. I thought perhaps I’d crossed a line. I said, “OK, forget it.”
“I’ll do it, Kevin. But if you don’t keep your side up, you get to be interviewed further by Lt. Moore. Are we clear on that score, Kevin?”
I nodded. Anything but Moore. That guy wanted nothing more than to torture me to death. Sick bastard.
Cooper spoke into his desk phone. Quietly. Then louder, “Yes, I’m sure. Just do it.”
Fifteen minutes passed. I was really uncomfortable. Cooper just sat there staring at me, warily, as if a poisonous snake might suddenly lunge from my nostrils and maul him. I wondered if that was correct usage. Do snakes maul or what? Ah shit, who cares anyway? Let him stare. I farted. Just for the hell of it, really. Normally I would have silenced it, but I wanted to see if I could unnerve this ice-man Dr Cooper. He didn’t react at all. Jesus, he was so self controlled and stare-eyed, it freaked me out.
The door opened with a fury. Moore came in, carrying a bottle of Jack Daniels and a bottle of Rose’s lime cordial. He thumped it down on the table, followed by a coffee mug. Not even a clean one.
I said, “Any chance of ice, sir?”
“Go fuck yourself,” and he slammed the door shut with an even greater fury.
Chapter 8
Cooper poured a stiff shot and a dash of lime. Then he got up and uncuffed my weak arm. My right arm. Observant son of a bitch.
I took a swig. Bliss. I took another swig. I closed my eyes and leaned back. I let my thoughts drift back to the night I met Karma-Jane. The bourbon loosened my thoughts and my tongue. My mind wanted to go its own way again. Oh what the hell.
Sometimes my life was boring. I was bored. Alone in my bedsit and bored. I had few friends. The people I worked with at the bar. Some of the regular patrons and that’s about it. I resented being alone and bored. I resented that people did not recognise my qualities and my charm, and I resented that nobody ever knocked on my door to visit.
My mother wanted to visit, but my place was too small and she would only end up sad and depressed. Mommy wanted me to join the military on a permanent basis. She was concerned that I was headed for trouble. She smoked too much and ate the burned ash off the end of her cigarettes. I couldn’t put up with that.
The bar was a popular drinking hole for the city’s gay men. The Butterfly Bar. It was a Men Only bar. I was easily the most popular barman. I was jovial, charming, and witty. And when I had a couple of drinks down my throat, then I was everything times ten. The gay men loved me. They tipped well, which made up for the meagre wages. I mean they tipped really well. I was always flush with money.
The Butterfly Bar was on sidewalk level.
Below the bar and accessed from around the corner, was Club Purple. A hive of activity with dozens of attractive patrons nightly and several desirable waitresses. I never went to the club much because I worked a sixteen – eighteen hour shift most days. I wanted to go down and meet girls. I thought about it often. Most of the time in fact.
I gave up most of my ‘off-time’ to work, because I loved stashing jam jars full of cash at the end of every shift. I knocked off early one Friday night, around ten p.m. The electricity in the building had failed so it had to be vacated.
I had parked my racing red ’76 Alfa Romeo Berlina near the Purple’s entrance. It was one of my two prized possessions, earned through dedicated long hours at the Butterfly Bar, and a considerable amount of short-changing patrons. Anyway, I was just sitting there, letting my Alfa’s engine warm up and observing the partygoers exiting the Purple.
I studied the parking meter. It was broken. The glass front had been smashed in. I wondered if it was because of someone’s anger, or whether some arsehole wanted cigarette money.
Chapter 9
The street lights light up the sidewalk brilliantly. Then I saw her and I knew instantly, instinctively, that we had a connection. She was like a gazelle. Or a ballerina. She sort of swooped. I liked the curve of her neck. In my mind I saw her dancing, her arms, legs and body in perfect rhythm, her head doing that side-to-side Indian thing. I liked that.
She stood on the sidewalk with two friends. They seemed to be on the lookout for a lift. I revved my engine and put my lights on. They turned to look my way. Karma-Jane bent her knees coquettishly and stuck her thumb out. They giggled. I was excited and felt my chest tighten. I waved at them to come to me, and I opened the passenger window, pretending to be cautious. “You ladies having a problem?” I asked.
“We need a lift, please,” they chorused. I pretended slight reluctance. ”OK, I’ll give you a lift.”
They bundled in. One in the front. Two in the back. ”I’m Kevin.”
They all tried to introduce themselves at the same time. It annoyed me, but I didn’t let on. “Let’s try that again.”
“OK. Next to you is Annie. I’m Claire – behind Annie, and Karma-Jane is behind you.”
“Pleased to meet you, ladies.” I gauged them to be in their late teens to early twenties. I was twenty seven. Well matched in age then, but probably better for me to knock a few years off. I could get away with that easily if they asked. They did. I went back a few birthdays to twenty three.
“So what do you do?” asked Karma-Jane. I didn’t want to be a barman. Not impressive enough.
“I’m an accountant.” Jesus. The words just came out. Why did I choose an accountant?
Too late to change. I mean, you can’t go from being an accountant to a civil engineer in one car ride. I could have said I was a dental technician, that could be easy to fake. But like a love-struck fool, I had said accountant. So I stuck with it.
As it turned it out, it was a safe choice. They were shop assistants, all working in the cosmetics section of the town’s largest department store. No rocket science involved.
I asked them where each lived, so that I could engineer the trip. As luck would have it, Annie was spending the night at Claire’s home and Karma-Jane was not. Without saying anything, I navigated my way to Claire’s family home. The two girls got out and I suggested that Karma-Jane jump up front and she did, giggling nervously.
As she climbed forward between the seats, her smell wafted into my head. She smelled like lavender and pink roses in springtime. I was mesmerised. I wanted to smell this smell forever. I wanted this gazelle-like girl to knock on my door, to visit me, to love me, to worship me. To have my babies. I wanted to marry her. I sort of lost my marbles that night. I was in dreamland. I had a beautiful girl next to me in my car. She was happy and giggling, and she smelled like candy. In my mind’s eye, I saw me and Karma-Jane on a picnic blanket, on the bank of a river, with our two small children playing nearby. Mills and Boon stuff. I was in love.
The overall was crisp. It smelled of carbolic soap. A smell I knew all too well. My mind drifted back to the time I spent in Eden Valley Reform School for Boys. Eden Valley was no Eden. It was a hellhole run by sadistic paedophiles who absolutely loved their ‘careers’. I remember the dull cement walls, unpainted. The plain cement floors, shiny, polished every day by the unwilling guests of the state. I don’t think there was even one warder ‘housemaster’ that didn’t sport some kind of physical deformity. The head warden was secretly called Mister Hitler. If he heard anyone say Hitler, there would be a meting out of cruel and unusual (but very usual at Eden Valley) punishment, usually ending with the perpetrator having the choice of giving Hitler anal or oral pleasure.
Mr Hiller, (aka Mr Hitler) had club feet and a replica Nazi moustache. He was thin, and walked with a strange limping gait. He had a huge Adam’s apple. It looked like a concealed twin was living in his neck. His eyes were thin dark slits. His eyes darted left and right continuously. It was best not to even try and make eye contact with him. If you did, you had to endure a tortuous line of questioning that started with, “Who you looking at?”; “Why are you looking at me?”; “Have you got something to get off your chest?” and would end with “Do you need punishment today?” Therefore most of us, except those who were weirder than Hitler, walked around with faces downcast and gaze averted.
Eden Valley was a den of sodomy. Not just between warders and inmates, but also in the dormitories and shower rooms. There were sadistic perverted bullies whom I am sure got sent to Eden Valley on purpose, so as to be confined with other misfits. I guess it kind of narrowed down the odds of rejection for them. You always had to sleep with one eye open and keep a blunt weapon near to hand, for the times when a raging poof tried to share your bed, or worse, when one of the sadistic sodomites tried to force themselves upon you. Disapproval had to be demonstrated quickly and efficiently. There was no sense of shame or desire for privacy. The misfits would engage in loud and semi-violent sex throughout the night. The word ‘promiscuity’ does not do justice to the goings on at Eden Valley.
From the time of arrival, I asserted myself and my heterosexuality by beating seven colours of shit out of the designated bully-in-chief, one Eddie Christie. Eddie tried to accost me in the showers, suggesting loudly that my duty was to satisfy him in any which way that he chose and whenever he chose it, unless of course I was desirous of having to give him this pleasure by the use of extreme force. I stunned Eddie with an unexpected lightning fast jab in the throat, followed by a left hook to his right eye area and a right hook to the side of his neck. As Eddie slid off the wall, I kicked him full in the face. His head snapped back and I punched down into his mouth. He was barely prone when I delivered two vicious kicks to his ribcage and a finale to his face.
When Eddie was released from hospital he was sent to another reformatory. I don’t know where.
All that mattered was that nobody ever tried that shit with me again, except Hitler. And Hitler was the reason I was eventually transferred from Eden Valley directly to big boys’ jail.
I had been at Eden Valley for about eight months. In all that time I managed to avoid Hitler, but eventually my day arrived. He was obviously on my scent, but could never isolate me. So he sent for me. One of the warders plucked me from my breakfast chair and marched me to Hitler’s lair. His office was smart, tidy and fastidiously neat, I thought. Creepy. Hitler got straight to the point. “I see you have been avoiding me, Kevin Adams. Why is that?” Jesus, I thought, how do I answer? What is the correct answer? Is there an answer?
“Uhm. No sir, I have not been avoiding you, sir. I have been trying to stay out of trouble, sir. Been trying to avoid trouble, sir.”
“Bullshit, man. Don’t come here into my office with bullshit. I hate bullshit. What do I hate?”
“Uhm, you hate bullshit, sir.”
“So then why do you try to give me bullshit, Kevin?”
“Sorry sir. I won’t do it again, sir.”
“What won’t you do again, Kevin? We haven’t even done it the first time yet and you’re already talking about the next time......mmmm?”
“I don’t know what to say, sir.”
“Let me help you, Kevin. Strip off your clothes and lay them on the chair there. It’s time for medical inspection.”
“Is the Doctor coming, sir?”
“No. I am the doctor, Kevin, and you are my patient. Strip off, and don’t give me bullshit, Kevin.”
Hitler stood up and walked from behind his desk towards me. He unzipped himself to expose a horrible looking, bent, purple penis. Erect.
“You strip, or you swallow. Kevin. Your choice.”
He put his hand on top of my head in a gesture of pushing my head down towards his groin. Mistake.
Instinctively I head-butted him and heard a cracking sound as his nose broke at the bridge. He looked amazed and dazed. I punched him in the throat. He went down choking and gasping. I kicked him so hard in his groin area that he sucked in air for what seemed an eternity, before he started to actually groan out loud. I gave him another kick in the ribs. Then another in his face.
Then I panicked. I looked around for inspiration. Plain brick walls, varnished. Parquet flooring. A cheap mat. A plastic trophy cup....what did this prick do to win anything. Focus. Focus. Oh God, my mind was scrambled. Eggs. Fuck eggs. Focus. Get out fast.
I opened Hitler’s office door and peered down the passage. Nobody in sight. Fear set in. I had just knocked crap out of the head of a reform school. The premises were surrounded by high walls with razor wire topping. Escape seemed impossible. I didn’t quite know what to do. I couldn’t return to my dormitory. There, I would be trapped.
My mind was considering possible hiding places. I needed somewhere to hide while I processed what had just happened, and how best I could get out of this. I mean, it’s not like the bastard never had it coming to him.
I briefly wondered how many boys he had sexually assaulted. He should have been in a girl’s reform school. How would that work? No it wouldn’t work. He wasn’t that way inclined. I quite fancied myself as the head of a girl’s reformatory. A fox in the chicken run. Like clubbing baby seals. I had to shake my head to clear my thoughts. No time to fantasise.
Focus. I had to focus. Hitler would be coming around soon, and wardens would be coming for me with pepper spray and firearms. I remembered my cousin Lindsay, undressing while I watched from inside her cupboard. She knew I was watching, but she was enjoying the tease....Focus. Jesus, what was happening to my mind? I was up to my ears in life-or-death stuff and I couldn’t keep my mind focussed.
I tried the side door to the chapel. It opened. I sneaked inside. Nobody around. I felt safer. Surely, nobody would hurt me in the house of God? Not that I would give them the same privilege if the chips were down. The pulpit was draped with a crimson drape. Probably to portray the blood of God, I thought. There was a crawl space underneath. I crammed myself inside and tried again to think of a plan. A plan to escape.
Chapter 6
I sat crumpled. Knees drawn up and hung my head between my knees. My thoughts drifted back to Lindsay. Her perfect breasts silhouetted against the soft silk of her bedroom curtains. I always thought of Lindsay as the one that got away. I wanted her. I wanted her to want me, but I also wanted to see her fear. In time it was the sight of their fear, the smell of their fear, the dying light in their eyes that I became addicted to. It was powerful foreplay. It drove me to insanity. The sex was just like, like putting a full stop at the end of a sentence.
For the first time during my Eden Valley stay, I heard a siren wind up. It sounded like an air raid siren in a World War Two movie. It started out like a low moan and built up to a wailing banshee. Oh Jesus.
I was in for shit. Ugly shit. The siren continued for what seemed an eternity. In reality, it was probably about ten minutes. Then there was silence. An eerie silence. Then muffled shouts. Then barking. Dogs. Then I knew for sure. No escape. No plan. I lose.
The dogs brought them straight to my hiding place. German shepherds and uniformed police. In a way, the police were a blessing. If the wardens had found me, I would have been messed up good and solid. I shouted out that I was unarmed and that I acted in self-defence. I kept repeating: I’m unarmed. He wanted to rape me. I’m unarmed. He wanted to rape me. I even pretended to be really traumatised and in a state of confusion. It worked. They thought I was cooked.
I addressed the guy in charge. The one with the most badges. I said, “Sir, Mr Hiller tried to put his penis in my mouth. He told me to undress. He pushed his erection at me and tried to force my head down. He threatened to rape me if I didn’t do it.”
The cop said, “We found him still unconscious with his pants half off. Your story sounds true, but you possibly went too far yourself.” Oh Jesus, had I killed Hitler? Surely not. I was handcuffed and led away to a police car, and taken to the local station and processed. While I was remanded in custody awaiting trial, Hitler succumbed. Apparently he had died of a heart attack, brought on by the beating.
I was given a twelve month sentence for aggravated assault with the possibility of parole after eight months. If it hadn’t been for my previous brushes with the law, I would have walked. Two previous convictions for unprovoked and aggravated assault didn’t help my case. But justice had been served.
The piece of shit Mr Hiller had paid the ultimate price for years of terrifying and assaulting boys and young men.
Chapter 7
“Get up, dog shit,” Moore barked at me, scaring me out of my wits and back into ugly reality. I stood up real quick, slightly off balance as a blood rush momentarily dimmed my senses. Moore held me by my throat and pushed me into the passage. “Cooper’s waiting for you. How he can stomach even the sight of you is a mystery. Psychologists, psychiatrists, psychopaths....you’re all fucking crazy. Move.”
Moore uncuffed me. Sat me down. Pulled my arms backwards and cuffed me to the chair. A heavy chair. Especially made for potentially dangerous suspects. Jesus, these guys think of everything.
Dr Cooper fixed me with a long searching gaze. He pushed his thick specs up his nose and took a deep breath. He was polite. Not friendly. I could tell that he didn’t like me. That hurt. Deep down, I was just like anybody else. I regarded myself as a sensitive being, a victim of my circumstances.
“Kevin, tell me about Karma-Jane. How did you meet?”
“Dr Cooper. I need to loosen up. I truly want to tell you everything.”
“What do you mean by loosen up?”
“Can you get me a triple Jack with a shot of lime?” Cooper leaned back in his chair and stared at me, unblinking. I thought perhaps I’d crossed a line. I said, “OK, forget it.”
“I’ll do it, Kevin. But if you don’t keep your side up, you get to be interviewed further by Lt. Moore. Are we clear on that score, Kevin?”
I nodded. Anything but Moore. That guy wanted nothing more than to torture me to death. Sick bastard.
Cooper spoke into his desk phone. Quietly. Then louder, “Yes, I’m sure. Just do it.”
Fifteen minutes passed. I was really uncomfortable. Cooper just sat there staring at me, warily, as if a poisonous snake might suddenly lunge from my nostrils and maul him. I wondered if that was correct usage. Do snakes maul or what? Ah shit, who cares anyway? Let him stare. I farted. Just for the hell of it, really. Normally I would have silenced it, but I wanted to see if I could unnerve this ice-man Dr Cooper. He didn’t react at all. Jesus, he was so self controlled and stare-eyed, it freaked me out.
The door opened with a fury. Moore came in, carrying a bottle of Jack Daniels and a bottle of Rose’s lime cordial. He thumped it down on the table, followed by a coffee mug. Not even a clean one.
I said, “Any chance of ice, sir?”
“Go fuck yourself,” and he slammed the door shut with an even greater fury.
Chapter 8
Cooper poured a stiff shot and a dash of lime. Then he got up and uncuffed my weak arm. My right arm. Observant son of a bitch.
I took a swig. Bliss. I took another swig. I closed my eyes and leaned back. I let my thoughts drift back to the night I met Karma-Jane. The bourbon loosened my thoughts and my tongue. My mind wanted to go its own way again. Oh what the hell.
Sometimes my life was boring. I was bored. Alone in my bedsit and bored. I had few friends. The people I worked with at the bar. Some of the regular patrons and that’s about it. I resented being alone and bored. I resented that people did not recognise my qualities and my charm, and I resented that nobody ever knocked on my door to visit.
My mother wanted to visit, but my place was too small and she would only end up sad and depressed. Mommy wanted me to join the military on a permanent basis. She was concerned that I was headed for trouble. She smoked too much and ate the burned ash off the end of her cigarettes. I couldn’t put up with that.
The bar was a popular drinking hole for the city’s gay men. The Butterfly Bar. It was a Men Only bar. I was easily the most popular barman. I was jovial, charming, and witty. And when I had a couple of drinks down my throat, then I was everything times ten. The gay men loved me. They tipped well, which made up for the meagre wages. I mean they tipped really well. I was always flush with money.
The Butterfly Bar was on sidewalk level.
Below the bar and accessed from around the corner, was Club Purple. A hive of activity with dozens of attractive patrons nightly and several desirable waitresses. I never went to the club much because I worked a sixteen – eighteen hour shift most days. I wanted to go down and meet girls. I thought about it often. Most of the time in fact.
I gave up most of my ‘off-time’ to work, because I loved stashing jam jars full of cash at the end of every shift. I knocked off early one Friday night, around ten p.m. The electricity in the building had failed so it had to be vacated.
I had parked my racing red ’76 Alfa Romeo Berlina near the Purple’s entrance. It was one of my two prized possessions, earned through dedicated long hours at the Butterfly Bar, and a considerable amount of short-changing patrons. Anyway, I was just sitting there, letting my Alfa’s engine warm up and observing the partygoers exiting the Purple.
I studied the parking meter. It was broken. The glass front had been smashed in. I wondered if it was because of someone’s anger, or whether some arsehole wanted cigarette money.
Chapter 9
The street lights light up the sidewalk brilliantly. Then I saw her and I knew instantly, instinctively, that we had a connection. She was like a gazelle. Or a ballerina. She sort of swooped. I liked the curve of her neck. In my mind I saw her dancing, her arms, legs and body in perfect rhythm, her head doing that side-to-side Indian thing. I liked that.
She stood on the sidewalk with two friends. They seemed to be on the lookout for a lift. I revved my engine and put my lights on. They turned to look my way. Karma-Jane bent her knees coquettishly and stuck her thumb out. They giggled. I was excited and felt my chest tighten. I waved at them to come to me, and I opened the passenger window, pretending to be cautious. “You ladies having a problem?” I asked.
“We need a lift, please,” they chorused. I pretended slight reluctance. ”OK, I’ll give you a lift.”
They bundled in. One in the front. Two in the back. ”I’m Kevin.”
They all tried to introduce themselves at the same time. It annoyed me, but I didn’t let on. “Let’s try that again.”
“OK. Next to you is Annie. I’m Claire – behind Annie, and Karma-Jane is behind you.”
“Pleased to meet you, ladies.” I gauged them to be in their late teens to early twenties. I was twenty seven. Well matched in age then, but probably better for me to knock a few years off. I could get away with that easily if they asked. They did. I went back a few birthdays to twenty three.
“So what do you do?” asked Karma-Jane. I didn’t want to be a barman. Not impressive enough.
“I’m an accountant.” Jesus. The words just came out. Why did I choose an accountant?
Too late to change. I mean, you can’t go from being an accountant to a civil engineer in one car ride. I could have said I was a dental technician, that could be easy to fake. But like a love-struck fool, I had said accountant. So I stuck with it.
As it turned it out, it was a safe choice. They were shop assistants, all working in the cosmetics section of the town’s largest department store. No rocket science involved.
I asked them where each lived, so that I could engineer the trip. As luck would have it, Annie was spending the night at Claire’s home and Karma-Jane was not. Without saying anything, I navigated my way to Claire’s family home. The two girls got out and I suggested that Karma-Jane jump up front and she did, giggling nervously.
As she climbed forward between the seats, her smell wafted into my head. She smelled like lavender and pink roses in springtime. I was mesmerised. I wanted to smell this smell forever. I wanted this gazelle-like girl to knock on my door, to visit me, to love me, to worship me. To have my babies. I wanted to marry her. I sort of lost my marbles that night. I was in dreamland. I had a beautiful girl next to me in my car. She was happy and giggling, and she smelled like candy. In my mind’s eye, I saw me and Karma-Jane on a picnic blanket, on the bank of a river, with our two small children playing nearby. Mills and Boon stuff. I was in love.
Chapters 1,2,3,4. Copyright
KEVIN ADAMS - CONVERSATIONS WITH A
SERIAL KILLER
Chapter 1
My name is Kevin Adams. I was 27 years old when I met her.
Her name was Karma-Jane.
Chapter 2
I said her name again, slowly. So that I could taste it on my lips.
Karma-Jane.
I didn’t like the taste. I didn’t even like the name, so I carried on squeezing her neck until she stopped wriggling. She looked at me with puppy eyes. Then her eyes glazed over and she was dead.
I leant forward to check that she had actually stopped breathing. She had. I noticed that she had faded acne scars. I was disappointed. I like them with clear complexions. I paused for minutes, thinking.
“Carry on ...” he monotoned, then just stared at me, unblinking. Dr Cooper had a monotonous boring face, with a voice to match. His spectacle lenses were so thick, from where I sat his eyes were the size of eggs. Slightly out of focus, I thought. His pasty face was hugely contrasted by the bluebeard effect. I sized him up. He was sizing me up. Jesus, did this guy never blink ever? He smelled faintly of mothballs. In my mind’s eye I could see the contents of his wardrobe. All beige and brown shit. Cardigans. Lots of cardigans. He had a short, fading scar on his chin. Probably tripped over his personality in one of his less boring moments. I wondered if he had a wife. I felt like asking him.
“Are you married, Dr Cooper?”
“We’re here to talk about your life, Kevin. Carry on ...”
I went back into my head ... well, at that point you only have a few minutes to continue, before they get cold and stiff, so I hurriedly took off her sweater. I pulled her bra off. A padded bra. Jesus Christ. I kind of lost my temper then and swore at her. If I had suspected that she wasn’t full-chested I wouldn’t have bothered.
“Carry on ...”
Well I pulled her jeans down a bit and then I saw the scar. That long sideways scars that results from a C-section. I was deeply disappointed. This apparently sweet young thing had misrepresented herself to me. I wished she was still alive so that I could teach her a bloody good lesson.
“Yes ... carry on ...”
I was trying to pull her jeans off completely. I
was in a hurry. I was hard and I needed her body urgently. I was busy
unbuttoning my flies. One button got stuck. I panicked. Time was running out.Chapter 1
My name is Kevin Adams. I was 27 years old when I met her.
Her name was Karma-Jane.
Chapter 2
I said her name again, slowly. So that I could taste it on my lips.
Karma-Jane.
I didn’t like the taste. I didn’t even like the name, so I carried on squeezing her neck until she stopped wriggling. She looked at me with puppy eyes. Then her eyes glazed over and she was dead.
I leant forward to check that she had actually stopped breathing. She had. I noticed that she had faded acne scars. I was disappointed. I like them with clear complexions. I paused for minutes, thinking.
“Carry on ...” he monotoned, then just stared at me, unblinking. Dr Cooper had a monotonous boring face, with a voice to match. His spectacle lenses were so thick, from where I sat his eyes were the size of eggs. Slightly out of focus, I thought. His pasty face was hugely contrasted by the bluebeard effect. I sized him up. He was sizing me up. Jesus, did this guy never blink ever? He smelled faintly of mothballs. In my mind’s eye I could see the contents of his wardrobe. All beige and brown shit. Cardigans. Lots of cardigans. He had a short, fading scar on his chin. Probably tripped over his personality in one of his less boring moments. I wondered if he had a wife. I felt like asking him.
“Are you married, Dr Cooper?”
“We’re here to talk about your life, Kevin. Carry on ...”
I went back into my head ... well, at that point you only have a few minutes to continue, before they get cold and stiff, so I hurriedly took off her sweater. I pulled her bra off. A padded bra. Jesus Christ. I kind of lost my temper then and swore at her. If I had suspected that she wasn’t full-chested I wouldn’t have bothered.
“Carry on ...”
Well I pulled her jeans down a bit and then I saw the scar. That long sideways scars that results from a C-section. I was deeply disappointed. This apparently sweet young thing had misrepresented herself to me. I wished she was still alive so that I could teach her a bloody good lesson.
“Yes ... carry on ...”
I was still fumbling when I ejaculated. In my underwear. Jesus, I was furious. This girl had lied to me and now caused me to mess myself. I slapped her several times then rolled over, still trying to unbutton myself. I ripped the button off. That’s the one they found at the scene.
I was furious and felt a bit helpless. No tissues. Nowhere to wash myself. I ripped Karma-Jane’s shirt off and used it to wipe myself clean.
It was nearly time to go.
I debated what to do with her shirt. It had my DNA. I lit a smoke and set fire to the shirt, holding it up. Twisting and turning it until every thread was unquestionably burnt, leaving no trace of my DNA.
I finished my smoke. Nipped the butt and put the nip in my back pocket. No time to get careless.
I said goodbye to Karma-Jane, set her clothing alight and walked back up the hill.
Chapter 3
“Take a break Kevin. I’ll need to talk to you later, but for the time being, let’s call a time-out, okay?”
“Sure, no problem,” I assured him.
Dr Cooper spoke briefly into the desk phone, and almost immediately a sallow looking asshole came into the interview room. He kind of reminded me of a GI Joe marine type. Short salt and pepper brushcut. Sideburns shaved off at least an inch above the ear. Not a big man, but one of those steel wire dudes that exude tough. His eyes were close set, giving him a sort of manic look. Close set, piercing eyes. He gave me the creeps. He needed a tan. I wondered if it was a job spec for these people to keep out of the sunlight. Maybe they were vampires. My mind was escaping again. Focus.
Focus Kevin, focus.
Sallow man’s voice sounded tinny, not quite falsetto. I guess he was one of those people who live their lives in a state of apprehension. Whatever, in that voice was a tone that I recognised as potentially threatening. I went into panic alert mode. He put his iron claw on the back of my neck.
My sphincter tightened.
“Stand up slowly, Mr Adams. Keep your hands at your sides, and your feet together. If you disobey any of my instructions, I have authority to use whatever force is required to immobilise you. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Yes. I understand.” I realised that this wiry, yellow fellow was probably as quick as a cobra and as tough as a pitbull. It was probably unwise to goad him. He was praying for a reason to fuck me up.
Handcuffs behind your back and the clank-clank of ankle chains are a reality check when everything else has failed to warn you that you’ve stuffed up.
A piston-like finger prodded me every few steps. This bastard wanted me to fall. Shit. I was trying to shuffle along as fast as possible and still he prodded me. God dammit.
“Sorry sir,” I said in my most polite tone,” but I’m going as fast as possible, please bear with me.”
A vicious slap to the back of my head was his response. I tried to hop, skip, run. I fell in a heap, smacking my face on the floor.
“I warned you to obey all my instructions, Mr Adams. You have to cooperate, Mr Adams.”
Oh my God, they’ve told this guy to kill me, I thought and a wave of fear crept over me. I wasn’t used to experiencing fear. I was the creator of fear. He kicked me in the small of my back and I felt a strange warmth between my thighs. I had pissed myself. And not in a nice way.
He pulled me up to my feet with apparent ease, using one hand, the other poised to draw his firearm. I was terrified.
I begged him, “Please sir. Please don’t hit me again. I’ll do whatever sir says, sir.”
He uppercut me in my soaking groin. I fell again. I felt my bowels let go and smelled the shit spreading around my lower body.
“You’re a stinking pile of camel shit, Adams. We’ll have to hose you down. Get you cleaned up for your next interview session. What do you think, Adams?” It wasn’t a question. I didn’t think he wanted to hear anything from me, so I said nothing. I just nodded.
Chapter 4
Later, I learned that this vicious little bastard’s name was Lt, Douglas Moore. He was the 2IC of Westlake Murder and Robbery: Tracking Unit, a police division established to track down serious and violent offenders. Jesus, I didn’t like the inference. I found it most upsetting.
Moore dragged me to my holding cell. It must have been planned. Another cop was already waiting, high pressure hose in hand. Waterproof overalls, gumboots, protective eyewear.
Moore unchained and uncuffed me. He stood with a baton in hand, waiting for me to give him another reason to smack me.
“Take off all your clothes and put them in the bucket. You’ll get a dry outfit, but you’re washing your own shit off. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
The high pressure jets of water required no addition of soap. I thought my skin might detach, it was so powerful. Hosepipe man knew his hosing game. He alternated between my face and my groin. When I protected my face, he’d go for the groin and vice versa. He played a teasing game, the bastard. My body stung as if I had been attacked by a colony of wasps. The jets left slight bruising all over my body. My balls ached. They were swollen and tender. My eyelids were puffy. My eyes felt as if they had been bathed in acid.
Hosepipe cop never said a word. I think this part of his job was a bonus. He wore a stupid sneer. I could out-think this guy ten times a second. If only they would leave me alone with him. I’d sort this shit out.
After several minutes of drip-drying, Moore returned and threw a pile of clothing at me. An overall and slip-on shoes. No underwear. No laces. For Christ sake, they’re like children, I thought. What the hell do they think one could accomplish with a pair of bloody laces? Tossers.
Moore barked at me, “Get your sack on and make it snappy, shit head.” I looked up at him. He was like a snarling, hungry white shark, just waiting for its prey to make a wrong move. I tried to avoid direct eye contact. No use in provoking this man in any way whatsoever. He wants to and is going to hurt me as much as he can without getting himself into shit. All I can do is try to minimise his anger and avoid beatings. I hated beatings. I feared beatings. It was always better to give someone a beating when in doubt.
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