Good PatRiot (boyxboy)

Victim Four

This one would be good. He rubbed his leather-clad hands together gleefully and waited with baited breath for what was sure to be another flawlessly executed murder. This one, oh this one would be good. Unlike the first three, he wouldn't even touch this guy.

No. He couldn't bring himself to touch this man. He'd enjoy killing without getting his hands dirtied by such filth.

Because this guy had been his lover.

He actually wasn't sure if they still were, it had been complicated as of late, but he supposed soon it wouldn't matter. Because he'd be dead. And he would enjoy every second of the guy's demise.

If the man had been thinking with the larger of his heads, well... that wasn't likely. the guy was dumb as a post. And if he hadn't been his lover, he wouldn't be about to die.

The man's name was Nico Garcia. He was a university friend and casual fuck-buddy. He had called them lovers earlier, but there were no strong romantic feelings between the two or any illusions that there would ever be more than casual sex between the two of them. Still they had made a promise not to fuck around while they were together for health reasons. And Nico, Nico had been sticking his dick into anything that moved. Or so the rumors said.

The broad shouldered Latino had left his house alone almost fifty minutes ago, and he had wasted no time in setting up the kid's death.

He had done this bomb configuration many times in the past. It took a couple of tries to perfect the complicated set up. The first time he had done it was still his favorite, but he was hoping this incident would take its place. The first time though, oh man, it was good. He had been at a birthday party. He disappeared during one of the party games and set the bomb up so the next person to go into the bathroom would get a nasty surprise. Then he went back to the game. About an hour later he heard the bang. And, as luck would have it, it had been the birthday girl herself that had gotten the full force of the bomb.

And she didn't die.

His present to her would be there for the rest of her life. Every time she looked into the mirror and saw the burn scars that warped most of the left side of her body. She looked like a comic book villain.

He laughed at the memory. It had taken him two more tries before the bomb worked well enough to kill the person. He supposed it was his fault for using spray paint to make the bomb. But hey, it was his weapon of choice.

Now as the kid's car parked along the road he waited. He started whistling the dramatic melody from Holst's Mars as the kid made his way to the front door of his home.

The key clicked easily into the lock and the watching man fought back a smile, his whistling forgotten, as he waited, with bated breath, for the doorknob to turn.

Unbeknownst of the impending danger, Nico turned the door knob and opened his front door an imperceptible distance...

BOOM!

Ahh, there it was.

More flash and fire than actually necessary, but that went without saying.

He loved fire.

And there the guy was on the ground, neck at an awkward angle. Smoldering.

It took everything in him not to go over and take a whiff. There'd be plenty of time for that shortly.

Now it was phone call time.

He smiled as he waited for the call connect. He had a rhyme he knew they'd all enjoy. Especially that feisty Spanish one.

The usual woman picked up and began her greeting and he started his rhyme without allowing her to finish.

"Sizzle, sizzle little spick.

Shouldn't have thought with just his dick,

fucked the wrong guy and now he's dead,

sizzling and smoldering in the flower bed.

This murder happened at two-one-nine.

At the rate you're solving them there'll be many more."

Mozart would have been happy with the little ditty he just made up.

Neighbors were starting to arrive at the scene. Some with phones in hand, no doubt to report the accident. Maybe tell the cops the actual address.

He moved quickly. There was still more to do before the cops arrived. Walking down the block he cut across the street and walked up the alleyway that passed directly behind Nico's house.

He pulled the can of spray paint out of his hoodie (he had decided not to wear the leather jacket today in order to blend in better) and painted the number 2:19 in the grass behind his house. He threw the can of paint down and pulled the track phone he had used out and threw it down too. Then he took off his gloves and put them in his pocket for safe keeping.

He made his way back down the alley and heard the distant moan of sirens steadily getting closer to his location.

He pulled a baseball cap out of his hoodie pocket and, raking back his hair, plopped it on his head.

The sirens had cut off and he knew that meant the cops had arrived. He headed back to the scene of his latest masterpiece.

Time to practice his acting skills and play the part of clueless bystander.

Time to see how stupid these cops were.

Walking up to a distressed bystander he asked, "What happened here?" voice full of so much fake concern.

The person turned to him, eyes wet and wide, "Somebody fucking blew him up! I can't believe this!" He continued to babble on and on about Nico this and that. It was sickening.

He made his way closer to the caution tape. Close enough to hear what the cops were saying.

There was a name floating around. One that he never thought they'd link to the cases so soon. His name. Maybe the police were smarter than he thought.

If they were putting together the pieces this quickly, it was only a matter of time until he was caught.

And there was still one murder that he absolutely had to commit. He hated to do it, but he was gonna have to recycle a method of killing.

Probably the blow torch. It worked nicely, and smelled absolutely wonderful.

If he hurried, he could make his deadline before he was caught.

*****

Pic's of Isabelle Platt