Pedokiller

Chapter 11

Chattering keys and people talking its all I evet heard. The noises were maddening to my senses. Sometimes I drowned it all out with headphones. My boss hated the idea of music in the workplace. I hated him being in the workplace.

I browsed the sex offender list in my down time. I found her. A female pedofile. I dug deeper into the search. She had a babysitting service. I felt sick to my stomach like someone had punched me in the guts. I honed in on her like a hawk on a mouse.

I called her. The phone rang twice before she picked it up. Her voice sounded raspy and stale like a thousand smoked cigarettes.

"Hello, I have a kid I want you to watch for me," I lied.

"Hi, yes. That will be fine. What time frame?" She asked.

"Around 6pm tonight until 11pm," I suggested.

"That's perfect I charge eight dollaes an hour. I live at 66 Harbor lane," she explained.

"Thank you I'll see you then good bye," I said.

"You're welcome bye," she said while hanging up the phone.

I drove there after work. I had a kill kit in the form of a tool box in my trunk. A knife, rope, plyers, tape, screwdrivers, etc. No one suspects a toolbox. No one suspects a woman either.

I arrived at her lime green house. The paint reminded me of infant excrement.  I strolled down the path to her house. I knocked on the door. There was no response. I tried knocking again. I finally heard footsteps leading up to the door. The door stood open.  A nearly six foot tall man built like a boulder stood in front of me. His hands were like solid rocks.

"Yes," he said.

"I'm here to drop off my kid," I lied pushing a stroller with a realistic baby doll inside.

"Ok, let me get Sarah. Sarah!" He shouted in a thundering voice.

I waited a few moments. I felt fear creeping into me. My palms and feet were sweating. My heart raced behind my breast. She appeared drunk and staggering around. I rolled my eyes. I went inside and shut the door. I shot the giant ogre nearly pointblank in the head with the .22 caliber revolver. He slammed through the coffee table. A single trail of blood trickled from his bald head. She ran toward the phone like a frieghtened deer. I shot her in the back. She faceplanted into the counter. The corner of it split her forehead open. Blood spewed down her ugly face.

"Why do you use a baby sitting service to molest kids?" I asked while standing over her.

"I'm sick, okay?!" She shouted.

"Well I have your cure," I stated while blasting her in the head.

I snuck away into the night with my stroller. I drove home like nothing was wrong. I obeyed all the traffic laws. I even waved to a cop on my way back home. I was a cool, calm, and collected killer. No one was going to stop me.