SERIAL UNCUT (6 page)

"
Well, he's not really
dead."

"
No kidding?"

"
And he's back and pissed off and
looking for revenge."

"
I can't wait to read it. Look, Mr.
Bryson--"

"
Please, Richard."

"
Richard, my name's Vincent
Carmichael, and I'm a freelance reviewer. I do stuff for Kirkus,
Booklist, Publishers Weekly. I would love to do an interview with
you and pitch it to PW or Kirkus. I think they'd be all over
it."

"
That'd be great."

"
Do you have some time right
now?"

"
Um, sure."

"
What do you say we go up to my room?
My recorder is up there and we can see what happens. By the way,
this is my niece, Michelle."

"
Hi, Michelle."

"
Nice to meet you, Mr. Bryson," Lucy
said.

Bryson pulled out his wallet. "Let me just
pay for my beer."

"
Get out of here." Orson pulled a five
dollar bill from his pocket and tossed it on the bar. "It is so
good to finally meet you, Rich."

He patted the man on the shoulder and pulled
him away from the bar.

As they rode up in the elevator, Lucy
marveled at the persona Orson had adopted: an attentive, personable
book reviewer who was utterly fascinated with the life and work of
Richard Bryson. She didn't know how he controlled himself, because
as the doors opened and they walked off the car onto the fourteenth
floor, her body was beginning to buzz with anticipation.

At last, they reached the door to 1428, and
Lucy pulled the keycard out of her pocket, her hands trembling.

She swiped the card as Bryson said, "You
should ask me about my publishing company, too. I hate the big New
York publishers, so I've decided to..." He stopped talking as Lucy
pushed the door open, and she knew exactly why. A subdued but foul
odor seeped out of the room into the hallway.

"
After you, Rich," Orson said. He was
glancing up and down the hallway, which for the moment, was
empty.

Bryson hesitantly entered the hotel room and
Lucy and Orson followed after him. Lucy heard the subtle click of
Orson locking the door.

"
My goodness," Bryson said. "Smells
like something died in here."

"
You can smell that?" Orson said. They
had all passed the closed bathroom door and now stood in the dark
bedroom. "It must be that sandwich half I threw away last night. It
sure went bad quickly."

Bryson took off his sports jacket. "Do you
mind if I use your restroom before we get started? That beer is
moving right through me."

"
Of course. Right through that
door."

Lucy stood next to Orson, watching Bryson
disappear into the bathroom.

"
Where's Luther?" she
asked.

"
About to have some Luther
fun."

She could see the light come on under the
door, the sounds of Bryson shuffling around inside.

"
Orson?"

"
Shhh," he whispered. "Let's just
enjoy this moment together."

Bryson said, "Oh God!"

Something crashed to the floor, and through
the door came the sound of a desperate struggle, something banging
into cabinets and walls, and then the meaty thud of hard
punches.

Bryson went quiet, but there was still
movement inside the bathroom. After a minute, the door opened, and
Luther walked out smiling.

"
Come see," he said.

Lucy hurried over to the open door.

Bryson lay unconscious on the floor,
hog-tied with zip-ties, and a ball-gag in his mouth.

"
Nice work, Luther," she
said.

"
You should've seen his face. He sat
down on the toilet to take a dump, and just as he was starting to
notice all the blood, I swept the shower curtain back and had Mark
Darling waving to him. Good thing he was on the toilet, 'cause he
shit."

"
Can I have my straight razor back?"
Lucy said.

Orson glanced down at her. "Of course. But
you know we aren't just going to kill him right away."

"
Why not?"

He smiled. "Sweet, Lucy. So much to
learn."

Richard opened his eyes fifteen minutes
later, naked and shivering. The balls of his feet just barely
touched the dead man sprawled beneath him across the shower tile.
His wrists were stretched far above his head, the zip-tie between
them hanging from an anchor bolt that had been screwed into the
ceiling. A giant ball had been wedged into his mouth.

Orson sat across from him on the toilet.
Lucy stood beside him, and Luther sat on the surface of the
sink.

"
I just want to thank you again,
Richard, for taking the time out of your busy schedule to sit for
this interview." Orson smiled and looked at Luther. "I think we
should let Lucy go first. Okay with you?"

"
As long as we get to stay in here and
watch. Lucy?"

"
What?"

Luther patted a red Craftsman toolbox. "I
know you have a straight razor, but if you'd like to borrow
anything in here, you're welcome to it."

"
Look at you," Orson said.
"Sharing."

Lucy saw Richard's eyes bug out when Luther
opened the box. Hers did too. "What in the world?"

"
I collect ancient surgical
tools."

She lifted out a long cylinder with six tiny
blades at the end. "What is this?"

"
It's called an artificial leech. It
tears a superficial wound in the skin and creates a vacuum to suck
up the blood."

"
It looks fun."

"
Oh, it is."

She set it on the countertop and pulled out
another tool. Richard's bladder let loose.

"
That's in my top three," Luther said.
The metal of the instrument was dark brown with rust and looked to
be several hundred years old. It had handles at the end, that when
pulled apart, made the other end open wide. "It's called a cervical
dilator," Luther said, "but it works beautifully on gentlemen as
well. It fell out of use, because it typically just tore the
insides apart, as you'll see."

She pulled out a strange-looking knife.

"
For circumcisions."

What looked like a pair of pliers, but
instead of metal grippers, had a needle at the end.

"
That's called a hernia tool. I know
it looks cool, but it's kind of hard to use. Here, let me show you
my favorite." Luther reached into the toolbox and withdrew a long
metal tool with a gently curving shaft. "This is called a
lithotome. Shaft goes up the anus and then you squeeze the handle
and a blade comes out on a spring release."

"
What was it used for?"

"
To cut the bladder to release kidney
stones."

"
Oh, this looks wicked." She pulled
out a hollow metal cylinder with circular blades at one
end."

"
That's a scarificator. Used for
bloodletting." He grabbed another tool. "This is a tonsil
guillotine." And another. "This is a trephine for skull drilling.
Here's a vaginal speculum, and these are h
emorrhoid
forceps."

The toolbox was empty now, a veritable
horrowshow on display on the bathroom sink.

"
I dream of coming back as a Victorian
doctor," Luther said.

Orson laughed.

"
Decisions, decisions," Lucy said,
reaching for the lithotome.

"
It's sad how he keep passing out,"
Lucy said.

Luther was holding a bottle of smelling
salts under Bryson's nose.

"
Yeah, you've got to be careful,"
Orson said. "The biggest buzz-kill is when they lose too much
blood. They just go into shock and die, and that's it. Superficial
cuts are key."

Richard jerked back into consciousness and
started to scream again through the ball-gag.

"
These aren't ideal conditions," Orson
said. "Of course, no matter what, we can't take the ball-gag out of
his mouth. What I'm afraid is going to happen is he's going to
throw up and choke to death."

"
I wish I could hear him
scream."

"
Me, too. It adds so much
more."

Six hours later, they washed Luther's
surgical tools, left the remains of Bryson hanging in the shower,
and walked out of 1428 for the last time.

It was almost nine o'clock and many of the
conference attendees had already left, the lobby much quieter
now.

Orson bought Luther and Lucy dinner in the
restaurant downstairs, everyone happy for the moment, a quiet
contentment settling over the meal.

"
When do you guys leave?" Lucy
asked.

"
First thing tomorrow."

"
Can I come with you?"

"
No."

Lucy felt a lump swelling in her throat.
"Don't you like me?"

"
Of course," Orson said. "But I can't
take you with me, I'm sorry."

"
What am I supposed to do?"

"
That's for you to figure out. Are you
going home?"

"
No. And my car's booted. I only have
a hundred and fifty dollars and my guitar case."

Orson reached into his pocket, opened his
wallet, pulled out a roll of bills. "Here," he said. "This should
get you started."

Lucy thumbed through the money. Almost five
hundred dollars.

"
Thank you," she said, but the sadness
was still there. "How am I supposed to get anywhere? I don't have a
car."

"
You could hitchhike," Luther
said.

"
That's dangerous."

"
You'll have to be careful," Orson
said. "Although, I have a feeling, it's the poor people who pick
you up that we should be more concerned for."

Luther laughed. "You need to get your hands
on some painkillers. Oxycodone. Something hard-hitting that you can
drug people with. That's the only way you'll be able to overpower
someone bigger than yourself. And let's face it. Everyone's bigger
than you."

"
Seriously." Orson reached across the
table and touched Lucy's hand. "You have to be careful. You have to
learn to read people. One day, you're going to meet someone out
there like me and Luther, only they may not be so hot to take you
under their wing. They might rather hang you up in a
shower."

"
I'll be careful."

"
How?"

"
I won't trust anybody."

"
Good."

Lucy squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Orson,"
she said. "I'm glad I met you. You too, Luther."

Luther smiled. It was still scary, but for
the first time, he didn't look like he was thinking about killing
her.

They walked Lucy through the lobby and out
the revolving doors of the hotel. Bellhops were stacking suitcases
on luggage carts and hailing cabs.

"
You could stay one more night," Orson
said.

"
Thanks, but I'm ready to go." She
wrapped her arms around Orson and squeezed him. "I'll never forget
you."

He knelt down in front of her. "You're a
special girl, Lucy. You know what you are, and you're not afraid of
it, and I admire that. I admire the hell out of it."

She turned to Luther and shook his hand,
then lifted her guitar case and walked away from the hotel, out
onto the sidewalk into the night.

Lucy had walked ten blocks before the first
pair of headlights appeared in the distance.

She dropped her guitar case on the pavement,
a small pit of nerves tightening in her stomach.

The car was getting closer.

She could hear its engine, and for the first
time in her life, but certainly not the last, she stuck out her
thumb.

A minivan pulled over to the curb and the
front passenger window rolled down, a thirty-something woman
smiling under the dome light.

"
You need a ride, sweetie?" she
asked.

Lucy conjured up a smile. "If it's not too
much trouble. It's really cold out here."

"
I've got groceries in the front seat,
but you're welcome to climb in the back."

Lucy pulled open the side door and stepped
into the minivan, stowing her guitar case on the floor and sitting
down beside a car seat, where an infant slept.

The woman looked back between the seats at
Lucy.

"
Just try to keep it down, if you
don't mind," she said quietly. "As you can see, my little angel is
sleeping."

"
No problem," Lucy whispered, staring
down at the baby, thinking,
No Luther, not
everyone's bigger than me.

PART THREE

Wisconsin, 2007

-1-

Taylor liked toes.

He wasn't a pervert. At least,
not
that
kind of pervert.
Taylor didn't derive sexual gratification from feet. Women had
other parts much better suited for that type of activity. But he
was a sucker for a tiny foot in open-toed high heels, especially
when the toenails were painted.

Painted toes were yummy.

The truck stop whore wore sandals, the cork
wedge heels so high her toes were bent. She had small feet--they
looked like a size five--and her nails matched her red mini skirt.
Taylor spotted her through the windshield as she walked over to his
Peterbilt, wiggling her hips and wobbling a bit. Taylor guessed she
was drunk or stoned. Perhaps both.