Global Goose: Book 3 in the Going Away Parties Murder Mystery Series

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Chapter 1: Victim

Global Goose checks his iPad to verify that his puppets are in place. Twenty prostitutes are waiting at designated locations according to instructions from post office boxes throughout the Greater New Orleans area. Nineteen of them will receive money from other prostitutes who have instructions from post office boxes. One of them will be his next victim. As he approaches the victim in the dark parking lot, he can see the her grinning.

Global Goose is thinking, Movies are stupid. Why struggle to kidnap a victim?

He accelerates to hit her with his pickup truck. It amuses him. At the last minute, she realizes what he is intending to do. She tries to run. The impact flings her like a bowling pin. She lands on all fours and collapses, still conscious. It was a light tap…for a truck. He does not have to put his truck into reverse to collect his prize. He sedates her. He drags her to the back of the truck and tosses her into the cargo area. He covers her with a tarp — a polyethylene tarpaulin sheet — and drives to the Louisiana swamplands.

Before last month, it had been years since he had visited this deserted cabin in the Louisiana swamplands. He had forgotten the tranquility of being miles away from civilization. His only neighbors within hearing distance of the cabin are the alligators and other creatures in the swamp and in the surrounding woods. Being there again brings back many exciting memories of other murders that he has committed. He is looking forward to many long hours of hearing his victim scream, watching the expressions of horror on her face, and smearing his fingers in the warm blood draining from her body. His heart is racing. His adrenalin is pumping. It gives him the strength to carry her into the cabin.

When she awakens, she is dangling by her handcuffed wrists from chains that are bolted to the ceiling. Her toes can barely touch the floor. She is naked. She is wearing ankle cuffs affixed to chains that are bolted to the wall of the cabin. She is hungry, and she is thirsty.

The psychopath uncovers his knives and tools of torture for the victim to observe. He wants to see the terror in her eyes. His anticipation of her fear excites him. He rubs his growing erection through his pants. He takes a swig from his flask.

I’m going to kill you, he whispers.

Returning his flask to the back pocket of his jeans, he takes a knife, and he cuts her face to see the flowing blood. She groans in pain. This excites him even more. He wants to take his time, increasing her pain gradually to maximize his pleasure. However, her reaction surprises him.

Fuck you, she says. You low life, scum sucking bastard. You don’t have the balls to kill me. How many knives does it take to kill somebody? You’re overcompensating. You probably have a little dick, you cocksucker, impotent, eunuch, mother fucker. Kiss my dying ass! I’ll see you in hell!!!

She is not compliant. In a rage, the psychopath raises the knife to murder her immediately. Yet, he stifles his passion. He wants to torture her slowly. He must contain his anger to maximize his pleasure.

He thinks to himself, Don’t be impulsive.

He resists the intense urge to stab her repeatedly. He needs her. He needs the constant stimulation of watching her suffer at his hands. Cutting her. Watching her bleed. Keeping her alive in pain. This is what he wants.

She is screaming as loudly as she can, I knew it! You big pussy!!! You stupid, incompetent, ignorant ass, wanna be mother fucker!!! You’re a failure!!! You’re an asshole — a little dick, sissy ass, failure!!! You can’t do anything right!!! Go find me a real man to kill me!!! You faggot-ass-wanna-be-a-killer, limp dick mother fucker! You’re the fucking slime at the bottom of the gene pool of humanity!!! Suck my cunt!!!

The psychopath slits her throat, and she dies immediately.

Global Goose is thinking, Bitch! I hate bitches!

She made him angry, and he killed her faster than he wanted to kill her. He releases the handcuffs to allow her dead body to drop to the floor. He removes the ankle cuffs.

All this clean-up work ahead with no fun knife-play for me. Bitch! I hate bitches.

His cell phone rings. Global Goose removes his latex gloves and answers the call.

Hello?

Hey, Pete, this is Mark. I need your help. This can’t wait. Where are you?

I’m at my cabin, Pete says. I can meet you at my house in a couple of hours.

Your cabin. That’s perfect, Mark says. I’m at my remote crematory. I’ll meet you at your cabin.

Mark disconnects from the call. Pete calls Mark to stop him from coming to the cabin, but Mark does not answer the call. Pete estimates that he has about thirty minutes to drag the prostitute’s body to the wood chipper, dispose of her in the swamp, take a shower, and intercept Mark on the road to prevent Mark from coming to the cabin. Pete drags the body to the rear of the cabin and turns on the outdoor lights. The path through the woods and the dock at the swamp are as bright as daylight.

Pete dumps her body onto the back of his Birdie Car model BC 2048 HCXR. He drives her to the wood chipper beside his dock. The confetti spray of her remains into the swamp under the spotlights gives Pete a perverse pleasure. He looks at his lounge chair and his picnic pack. He regrets that Mark’s imminent arrival is spoiling this part of his ritual. There is no time to lounge and snack and masturbate while watching the confetti. After the wood chipper completes the disposal of the body into the swamp, Pete rushes back to the cabin. Mark is already there.

How the fuck did yo get here so fast? Pete asks.

I thought you knew, Mark says. We’re practically neighbors…as far as any two people can be neighbors out here. I guess I know more back roads than you do. What kinda fuckin’ slow torture chamber have you created here? I thought the stacks of dead bodies after the I-10 crash was a shocker, but this is over the top. Did I hear you running a wood chipper out there? Damn! I think I deserve royalties because you used my idea.

Mark laughs, and says, Hey, let’s move these knives so I can use this table for my notebook computer. Or, do you have another room that we can use? I really need your help.

Are you pretending that that this is not…shall we say…an awkward situation? Pete asks.

I don’t pretend, Mark lies. This is definitely a potentially fatally awkward situation. However, I am preoccupied by the problem at hand. I have thirteen bodies to cremate tonight, and my fucking notebook computer stopped my ovens when I connected to my network. No worries. You still have a noose around my neck for the body count coverup after the New Year’s Eve murders. Either kill me now, or help me with this computer problem! I don’t have time for chitchat!

You’re crazy, Mark, Pete says.

Are you going to help me?!!! Mark asks, exasperated. I got some kinda software update when I connected!

Calm down. Let’s look at it, Pete says.

After they solve Mark’s computer problem, Mark says, Okay, back to the wood chipper and handcuffs from the ceiling. I outweigh you by forty or fifty pounds. Do you want to settle this now, or may I get back to the thirteen bodies at my crematory?

I guess this makes us even, Pete says.

Yeah, whatever, Mark replies. We’ll talk, okay?

Sure, Pete says.

Mark leaves the cabin quickly and drives away.

Mark is thinking, What the fuck!

Thomas’ Birthday

The next day is Thomas’ birthday. This is a big Mardi Gras weekend. This is the day for the beautiful Endymion parade. Mark is tired from working into the early morning hours to cremate bodies and distribute the ashes into mini-urns. He feels happy that his only obligation for this day is to attend a party at Penelope’s house. Discovering Pete’s secret has given Mark the upper hand in their relationship, but it has also strengthened a bond into which he initially entered reluctantly.

It is seven o’clock on Saturday morning. Mark’s cell phone rings. Pete is calling. Mark thinks for a moment. He chooses an attitude for dealing with this situation.

Hello, Mark says.

Mark, Pete says. Let’s meet for breakfast.

Don’t be ridiculous, Mark says. Are you trying to become my fuck buddy over this bullshit? I don’t do men. Let it go. It never happened.

How do I know I can trust you? Pete asks.

You don’t, Mark says. Except for the blood spatter and the smudges on the floor, that fuckin’ cabin was spic and span last night with glossy white paint on the walls. If it looked like that after the New Year’s Day mess, I’m sure there’s no evidence of anything that I saw last night. Let it go. I don’t care.

Pete laughs.

Okay, Mark, Pete says. I owe you one.

You don’t owe me shit, Pete, Mark says. Let it go means, fuck it. Shit happens. Move on. Forget about it. How ‘bout those Saints? Whatever.

I hear you, Pete says.

Bye, Pete, Mark says.

Bye, Pete says.

Mark is thinking, What a relief. That went well. I need a fucking drink.

Before Mark reaches the bar, his cell phone rings again. It is Penelope. This is another call that he cannot ignore. He pours a shot of Scotch and chooses another attitude before answering. He has to spend a lot of time with her today, so he wants to avoid conflict.

I want to fuck you, Mark says instead of hello.

Right now? Penelope asks, disarmed by the surprising greeting.

Right this minute, Mark says. Get your ass over here.

Mark knows that Penelope cannot come over. He knows that she called to complain because he did not go to her house as planned for last night. He also did not call her to say that he was not coming. He changes gears. He chooses another attitude.

What’s up, babe? Mark asks. I know I’m a bastard. I was up to ass in cremation ashes until three o’clock this morning. What’s it going to cost me? Do you want me to buy you a car?

Penelope laughs.

Don’t be silly, Mark, Penelope says. I’m a reasonable woman.

A pair of shoes, then? Mark asks.

Penelope laughs again.

Listen, she says. I need you to do me a favor.

Anything for you, Penny, baby, Mark says. What do you need?

As he listens, Mark is thinking, Now, I’m a fuckin’ errand boy to throw a party for Martin’s brother. Did I wake up in some alternate universe?

Mark says, No problem. I’ll do that right away.

After the call, he drinks another shot of Scotch. The phone rings. It is Martin. Mark does not have to take this call. However, he needs to vent. He chooses another attitude.

This better be a fuckin’ emergency, Mark says instead of hello.

It’s not, Martin says. What’s wrong with your girl, man?

Mark changes his attitude again.

I know, Mark says. You and your brothers do the whole kidnapping and male bonding thing on birthdays. She’s expecting it. Don’t worry about it.

If she has anything special planned, Martin says, tell her to get it over with by six o’clock tonight.

Mark is thinking, Now, I’m a fucking message boy for my whorish buddy?

Mark says, No problem. Will do.

He disconnects the conversation without saying goodbye. While he is pouring another shot, the phone rings again. He has to answer the call. It is Cynthia. He has not spoken with her in several days. He chooses another attitude.

I was just thinking about you, Mark lies in tone of voice that is sexy to Cynthia. Are we still on for tomorrow? All week, I’ve been looking forward to spending some quality time with you tomorrow.

I’m sorry, Mark, Cynthia says, I called to cancel.

Mark is thinking, And that required a fuckin’ telephone call at seven o’clock in the morning?

Mark says, still using his sexy tone, Oh, no, baby. Are you alright? Do you need anything?

I need to go to your place in Slidell right away, Cynthia says. I left my computer there, and I have to get it right away.

No problem, baby, Mark says in the sexy tone that she likes. Thanks for respecting my boundaries. Do you need anything else?

No, Cynthia says. I’ll call to reschedule when I get back to town.

Okay, Cindy, baby, Mark says.

No sooner than he ends his conversation with Cynthia, the phone rings again. It is Penelope. Mark throws the phone against the brick accent wall in his sex gymnasium, shattering it into pieces. He laughs. He pours himself another drink.

Mark is thinking, Now, that might actually cost me a car, but it felt damn good.

Methuselah’s Exile

At midnight, Peter goes to the gay bar, Methuselah’s Exile, as usual. He has been going there nightly at midnight for years. Because of Mardi Gras, the bar is more crowded than usual. It is standing room only for almost everybody, but Peter’s stool at the end of the bar is