Every Woman's Dream (30 page)

Chapter 50

Calvin

D
URING THE NEXT FEW WEEKS
, I
SAW SEVERAL MORE WOMEN WHO
reminded me of Glinda. I wanted to grab each one by the throat and squeeze it until the light in her eyes went out so that I could relive the experience of killing Glinda.

There was a time when the first thing I looked at on a woman was her face. Then I checked out her butt and breasts. I still looked at those things, but now I paid more attention to her neck than all the rest of her body parts put together. But not on a frumpy woman with a neck as thick and rough-looking as a linebacker. I preferred slim, swanlike, dainty necks; those excited me because they were so fragile and the easiest way to do what I had to do....

I was getting bored and restless. I couldn't wait to initiate my next project.

My obsession had begun to control my life and there was nothing I could do to stop it. There were some days and nights when my hands shook so uncontrollably, my head ached, my chest tightened, and my stomach flip-flopped so hard it was difficult for me to function. When I experienced one of those episodes while I was on the road, I pulled over and waited until the feeling passed.

One night I was close enough to a truck stop, so I pulled in and parked. Within ten minutes, three different prostitutes tapped on my window and offered their services. In less than an hour, five more approached me. One happy hooker even told me that she would suck my dick for five dollars because she liked my looks. I turned them all down. The only thing that saved one of those eight lot lizards from dying that night was the fact that I had already wasted too much valuable time and had to get back on the road as soon as possible.

A week later, while I was having dinner in a restaurant about a mile from my house, I noticed a woman sitting alone across the room. I wanted to take her home and
keep
her. My plan was to follow her when she left and do whatever I had to do to get her into my Jeep. Fortunately for her, two other women and three dudes joined her.

A few days after that, I was cruising around and spotted another potential project as she entered a building on Hudson Street. I made a U-turn and parked in a lot at the corner. Thirty minutes later, the same woman strolled back out with a baby in her arms. That was the only reason she didn't die that night. I would never do anything that would endanger a child.

The next day, I encountered a woman at a street fair who was so drunk she could barely walk straight. She was loud and dressed like a slut, just like Glinda. Just as I was about to move on her, two big husky older females approached.

The larger one gave me a surprised look and said loud enough for everybody within a mile to hear, “I know you! You're Calvin—uh, I don't remember your last name. You drive one of them big-ass trucks. I met you at Marianne Cundiff's housewarming party in Oakland a couple of months ago!”

I grinned sheepishly, made a few necessary comments, and promptly slunk back out of sight. I visited three different bars that night and had no luck. I was getting desperate. I had a hungry monster roosting inside me that had to be fed real soon.

 

I regretted not keeping Glinda alive long enough to torture her and make her truly sorry for the way she had hurt me. Whenever I recalled the look of fear in her eyes when she realized what was happening to her, I smiled.

The first hitchhiker I picked up at a truck stop in Eugene, Oregon, was a girl in her late teens.

Kimberly wore jeans, with ripped knees, and a white T-shirt, with a huge picture on the front of Bob Marley smoking a thick joint. She was white and didn't remotely resemble Glinda, but she looked like another female who was just as disgusting to me: Paris Hilton. She had big dingy teeth and long blond hair with black roots. Every time she giggled and belched, which was almost every time she opened her mouth, I wanted to slap her.

After chatting with her for just a few minutes, I realized what a no-good whore she was too. She bragged about all the men she had “got over on” and how she had just left her husband after cleaning out the two thousand bucks he had saved in his bank account. And she had slept with his best friend. I was surprised that nobody had disposed of this beast already. I was appalled, but I managed to control my actions. I even laughed along with her as we cruised down Interstate 5. I stopped laughing when she offered to “pay” me for the ride with sex.

“You really look like a girl who can show a man a real sweet time,” I said with a chuckle, knowing a corny statement like that would make her feel even more comfortable.

“Oh, I can show a man the best time he ever had. The guy I was with last night, he wanted me to look him up when he gets back from Sacramento. When I make love to men, they never forget me.” She let out a loud giggle and it sounded even more annoying this time.

“I'm sure you'll make me feel the same way,” I told her, massaging her knee with my trembling hand.

“By the way, I'll probably never see you again, but I would like to know your name. I'm Kimberly. What do I call you?”

“I'm . . . Thomas,” I said.

“Thomas, let's go somewhere and get busy.”

Without saying another word, I eased my big rig down a long, dark road, which I had visited many times before when I needed to take a bathroom break. Kimberly removed her clothes and was clawing at mine before I even parked.

We moved to the sleeping section of my cab and I clicked on my interior light and gave her a closer look. I almost threw up. Her pale flesh looked like the underbelly of a fish and she almost had more black hair on her legs than I had on my head.

“Hurry up. I ain't got all night.” She glanced at my dick, which was as hard as a brick, and rolled her eyes.

That eye roll confused me because I thought she was anxious to have sex with me.

“I like it rough,” she cooed.

Oh, I was rough all right. I rammed my rod into Kimberly in such a frenzied way, you would have thought that she was paying me to do so. I finished as quickly as I could, and she quickly let me know what a disappointment I had been.

“What a fucking
joke
this was!” she griped, shaking her head and looking at my dick at the same time.

Kimberly was already doomed, but then she said something that hastened her demise; something no man ever wanted to hear—especially a black man: “For a brother, you sure ain't
hung
the way I expected. I could have had a better time poking myself with a Tootsie Roll.” She glared at me like she wanted to bite my head off.

Chapter 51

Calvin

K
IMBERLY SNEERED AT ME AS
I
SAT FACING HER WITH EVERY FLUID
in my body boiling with rage. “Ex . . . cuse me?” I said as the monster in my belly growled.

“I always heard that
you people
had real big dicks. Now I know that's nothing but a myth that black dudes probably started! I've seen more meat in a hot dog bun than what you've got between your legs!” she said nastily. Then she laughed.

Her complaining about my performance was bad enough. But she had to go and complain about the size of my penis too! That bitch! That heifer! I couldn't wait to put out her lights. If she didn't have it coming, I didn't know who did. My head felt like it had been trampled on by a huge, angry bull; that was how painful my sudden headache felt. I snapped like a twig. And so did her neck.

When I was sure she was dead, I rifled through her backpack. Her shabby, cheap wallet contained almost two grand, probably what was left of the money she had stolen from her husband. According to her driver's license, her full name was Kimberly Diane Hollenbeck. I stuffed the money into my wallet and put her wallet, with the rest of its contents intact, into the duffel bag I carried on each trip.

I suddenly panicked. I had no idea what to do with the body! I couldn't take her to my house, especially since it would be another day before I returned to San Jose.

There was only one thing I could do. I removed Kimberly's naked body from my truck and dumped her onto the ground and dropped her clothes on top of her. Then I covered her with branches and dead leaves.

I had used a condom, so I was not worried about them finding my DNA in her pothole of a pussy or me contracting HIV. I double wrapped the condom with a large leaf and put it in my jacket pocket. I would flush it down the next toilet I stopped to use.

Two months after the episode with Kimberly, I encountered several more women who suffered the same fate. I
almost
let one go. She was an obese Native American woman named Morning Star. She was in her late twenties and had a mug that could curdle milk: tight beady black eyes, a faint mustache, a hawk nose, and a jawline like Jay Leno's. Her long, oily black hair, slicked back and held in place with numerous bobby pins, reminded me of a beaver's tail. I was surprised to hear that she had just gotten married three months ago.

When I warned her about how dangerous it was to hitchhike, she laughed and said, “Nobody would have to rape me, no how. I love to fuck. And truckers are so lonely, they don't care what I look like.”

I was horrified.
Aren't there any women who got married and stayed faithful to their husbands?
I wondered. I asked this booger bear point-blank if she had fooled around on her husband yet. Not only did she admit to doing so, she had done it with her sister's black husband because she hated her sister and she had always wanted to “make it” with a black dude.

Morning Star made it with another black dude that night and her double-wide ass ended up in a ditch in some woods a few miles from Fresno.

There was the girl near Sacramento and the one in Bakersfield, and others. I had collected a lot of trophies: a gold bracelet from a Jewish runaway, a buckskin jacket from another Paris Hilton clone, and a pair of red high heels from a woman I'd picked up at a truck stop in Barstow. I stored my trophies in a cardboard box, which I kept in my bedroom closet for a while. One night when I thought I heard noises coming from the box, I got spooked. I made a trip to a hardware store and I purchased a large metal footlocker. I put the box of trophies into my “treasure chest” and padlocked it before I hauled it up to my attic.

I hadn't opened the freezer since I'd stored the third woman, a stripper with a bad attitude. I'd coldcocked her during a private lap dance in my Jeep a couple of months ago. But I went up to my attic at least once a week to admire my treasures.

I couldn't even remember what all of the females had looked like that I'd picked up on the road, or exactly where I'd left each one. I followed the news religiously. Every now and then, there was a report about a hunter or a hiker stumbling across the skeletal remains of a female in a wooded area along the interstate highway. Since some of the women had probably given me fake names, I had no idea if any of them were the ones that I had chastised or not.

If somebody could “connect” the three missing black women from the Bay Area, the way that busybody reporter had done, it was just a matter of time before somebody realized several female hitchhikers had disappeared in the last six years along the same interstate routes that I drove on the same dates.

I was still mad as hell about what Glinda had done to me, but I had calmed down a little, so I decided to slow down—temporarily. Even as clever and lucky as I was, I didn't want to take too many chances. Some of the smartest criminals made the dumbest mistakes and I didn't want my name to be added to that list. I even hoped that I would eventually find another way to channel my anger, but I knew it would be a while before I got to that point. The belly of the beast inside me was only half full.

Chapter 52

Calvin

L
ESS THAN A MONTH AFTER
I'
D BEGUN SEARCHING THE
W
EB FOR
new projects, I stumbled upon the profile of a woman who brought that beast inside me out of hibernation. She was, of all things, a
grocery store clerk—
a long step down from the lawyers and other high-level female club members I had already acquainted myself with.

Her name was Lola Poole, but it should have been Glinda Price. Lola was a dead ringer for Glinda. Had I not known better, I'd have sworn that they were twins. I felt a level of euphoria that I'd never felt before. The urge to complete another project had returned with a vengeance. I
had
to resume what I had been destined to do. Good God! I felt like I had been reborn! Through Lola, Glinda had returned from the dead so I could kill her all over again. And this time it was going to be even more therapeutic.

Lola immediately responded to the first e-mail I sent to her club in-box. She was interested, but she claimed to have a very “full schedule for a while” and didn't know when we could hook up. Bitch! She didn't fool me. I knew she was itching to lie down with me. But like so many other women, she wanted to play mind games. And I was going to give her a hell of a run for her money. I was going to beat the bitch at her own game because I had a real plan, she didn't. I didn't want to rush things, so I claimed I had a very full schedule too. I planned to develop the relationship slowly. I wanted to savor every moment. And when the time came, that cow would suffer more than Glinda and all the others had put together!

I was glad Lola was in no hurry to meet me. I admired her for being honest enough to let me know that she wanted to dilly-dally with a few other men first. I had my own theory: This man-eater knew I was a good man, but she wanted to nibble on a few others before she decided to settle down with a dude like me. I figured she was already stringing a few other dudes along, and after she'd sampled each one, including me, she'd pick and choose the one she wanted to string along even longer. Oh, I had her number, all right. She obviously had no solid career aspirations; otherwise, she would not have been working as a grocery store clerk for almost
fifteen
years. Her ultimate goal was to land a husband.

The last messages she left in my in-box made me sick:
Hey, Calvin! I looked at your profile and picture again and I hope we can get together someday soon. Keep in touch!
BrownSugar

BrownSugar was BrownShit!

I didn't bother responding to that corny dribble right away. I'd get back to her in a few days. I planned to communicate with her just enough to keep her interested. The first time I saw her picture, I knew
immediately
that I was going to kill her.

When we did finally meet, I'd wine and dine her and remain somewhat aloof so I wouldn't make her nervous and scare her off. I wouldn't even object if she wanted to continue seeing other men—as if I could stop a bitch from screwing around on me, anyway! I'd even encourage her to do so. I suspected that before she joined the dating site, she had already hurt some righteous men with her nasty self. With her being involved with several men around the time of her disappearance, the cops would have a very long list of suspects to focus on.

 

It had been six months since I'd sent Lola the first e-mail. In the last one I'd sent, which was a month ago, I asked for a telephone number so I could hear her voice. But she'd declined. She also told me that she didn't feel comfortable revealing too much of her personal information too soon. I laughed out loud, long and hard, when I read that part of her e-mail. The stupid bitch didn't have to reveal her “personal information” too soon. Everything I needed to know about her was posted on Facebook: her full name and the city she resided in! Her name and home address were listed in the telephone book! In her club profile, she had even included the name of that Mickey Mouse grocery store she worked for and it was listed in bold print in the phone book too.

Like so many other ignorant women on the Internet, Lola had made herself a sitting duck and didn't even realize it. No wonder the body count in America was so high. And it was going to get even higher. . . .

Had I met Lola a couple of years ago, she would be a Popsicle by now, just like Glinda and the two “roommates” she shared the freezer with.

Christmas was coming early for me this year. Lola was going to be a gift in every sense of the word. She had received five-star reviews from club members she'd been with. That was enough for me. So in addition to her being my most important future project, I had a good fuck to look forward to as well.

Lola Poole. It was so ironic that her last name rhymed with “fool.” So that she'd keep me on her radar, I sent her another e-mail a few hours ago. I practically begged her for a phone number so I could call and text her. She was so glad to hear from me; she wasted no time giving me her cell phone and her landline number. I called her right away.

“Lola? Is it really you?” I asked when she answered on the second ring.

“Yup! It's really me!” she said, sounding like a fucking cheerleader.

“You sound so young.”

“People tell me that all the time. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I'll be thirty-three this year.”

“So, have you been keeping busy?”

“Yup.”

“I'm sure you have.” I chuckled, but what I really wanted to do was scream at this bitch and call her every trashy name I could think of. But I was way too cool to lose my cool. I had come too far to derail the plans I had for this nasty heifer.

Women were like books and I knew how to read them. Every page on Lola's book was in big bold print. She was probably already planning a big church wedding for us! Well, if I had not planned to keep her body after I killed her, she'd still be participating in a big church event, all right: her funeral.

“I know a beautiful woman like you wouldn't sit around the house twiddling her thumbs. I'm sure you're one of the most popular women in the Discreet Encounters club, so I know you get a lot of requests for, uh, discreet encounters.”

“Well, yeah, I do get a lot of requests,” she said slowly, clearing her throat. “I'm glad I joined the club. I have a date lined up for this Friday night.
I wish it was with you.
”

“So do I,” I said, almost choking on the words.

“I . . . I realized there was something special about you the first time I saw your picture. I didn't want just to sleep with you and move on to the next man, I . . .” She paused. “I'm sorry. I'm making a fool of myself, but I just want you to know that you really are special to me.”

“I feel the same way about you, Lola,” I admitted. She was the most annoying, disgusting, stupid, love-struck female I had ever encountered! Bitch, slut, whore! She had probably picked out the names of the children she thought we were going to have.

“I know we've only communicated a few times, but I can already tell that you are a very interesting man.” She chuckled.

Despite my rage, I was actually in a jovial mood, so I chuckled too. “And I can already tell that you're a very interesting woman.”

“I've met a lot of other nice men in the club, and I've had a whole lot of fun, but I'm not going to be a member too much longer.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Well, I'd like to settle down with one man.”

“Oh? Is there someone special in your life now?”

“No, but I'm sure I'll meet somebody special soon.”

I held my breath and counted to five. Sometimes that helped me control my tongue and my anger. This bitch was lucky I couldn't come through the phone. “My schedule is a little more flexible now. If you're not too busy in the next couple of weeks, maybe you can squeeze me between other dates on your calendar.”

“Yeah. I'm sure I'll be able to do that. To tell you the truth, I was beginning to think we'd never even get this far,” she said, trying to sound coy. She was about as coy as a madam.

“I guess it has been a long time since I sent you that first message, huh?”

“Almost six months. I printed out your message and it's got the date on it.”

Why would a woman do juvenile shit like that and then tell the man? She probably kept a diary, too, and called the Psychic Hotline on a regular basis to listen to their lies about her love life. “If I hadn't had to do so many runs and issues going on at work, we could have gotten together long before now.”

“Calvin, you don't have to explain anything to me. I've been just as busy as you.”

“I'll give you a call in the next week or so and we can make plans to get together. Are you okay with that?”

“Oh yes! I'm really looking forward to it!” This cow sounded like it was Jesus she was going to meet. Well, she would meet him real soon....

“I have a few personal issues I need to attend to first.”

“Oh. I hope it's nothing too serious.”

“Don't worry, it's not. A lot of things happened while I was in the military that need to be straightened out. The most serious one is that my ex didn't pay the property taxes for two years in a row, like she was supposed to, so that's a big mess. I have court dates up the ass. But I promise I won't take too long.”

Everything that had just slid out of my mouth was untrue. There was only one reason I was putting Lola off, and that wouldn't change: I was taking my time because I wanted to savor every day, hour, minute, and second of the whole experience of killing her from start to finish.

“Okay, Calvin. I can't wait to meet you in person.”