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Archive for November 15th, 2010

Since I’ve gained a large number of new readers lately, I should explain that once a month I present a fictional tale of whores vs. bad guys.  If you like this one you may be interested in previous entries from July, August, September and October, and if you don’t you may rest assured we’ll be back to the regular nonfiction columns tomorrow.

Ripper

The man walked down the dirty, empty street, keeping to the shadows and avoiding the occasional video camera by carefully plotting his course.  There weren’t many in this part of town, and those were mostly located at major intersections or near businesses; by travelling in side-streets and alleys he could make it to his hunting ground unobserved.  He turned the collar of his overcoat up against the November cold, drew his hat lower on his brow and then returned his hand to his pocket, fingering the surgical knife there.  Like the transparent polymer gloves which covered his hands, he had stolen it from the hospital where he worked; fifteen years of experience with institutional procedures allowed him to be certain nobody would ever discover it missing.

The evening damp chilled him to the bone and as the wind bit into him he cursed the activist judges who had tied the hands of the police and released sin and wickedness upon society.  In the old days officials knew right from wrong, and the laws allowed police to round up the harlots who tempted men into sin and polluted this once-great nation with their lewdness.  But slowly, over time, they had seduced judges and lawmakers, bewitching them into dismantling laws which protected men and their families from wanton women, and now they could brazenly practice their whoredom without fear of punishment.  For years he had been sickened by the sight of their advertisements; the adult information channels were befouled by them, and in time he had come to realize that it was the duty of moral and Godly men to perform the task the government had abdicated.  He knew it was a sign of weakness in him to complain about the cold while performing a sacred duty, but surely it wasn’t wrong to be angry with the authorities for forcing him out on such an unpleasant night to do their jobs for them.

Unfortunately, the more beautiful and seductive harlots had become wealthy enough by the multitude of their sins to be able to afford bodyguards, and they were so sought-after by lustful men that they could demand thorough screening procedures before seeing them; it was thus impossible for him to reach any of those.  Likewise, the pimps and madams who set up brothels hired guards for the whores they employed; he thus had to trust that Divine justice would take care of these pampered and protected hussies.  But the degraded trollops who sold their wares on the street, those were within his reach!  He had already sent five of the filthy animals to Hell, and God willing he would send another to her well-deserved fate tonight.

As he was about to step from the alley into the street he had chosen for tonight’s work, he heard the soft whine of a police cruiser and quickly drew back into the shadows.  What irony!  They were both on the side of law and righteousness, yet he had to hide from the police because they had been ordered by their corrupt superiors to hunt him down.  Oh, yes, they were looking for him, but they wouldn’t find him; he was too clever and understood his quarry too well.  Though their filthy trade was no longer illegal, streetwalkers rarely bothered to keep their licenses up to date and often violated nuisance laws by approaching men; though they could not be arrested they could certainly be ticketed for these administrative infractions, and since few of them bothered to pay those tickets they were just as interested in avoiding the police as he was.  The best areas for hunting them were thus also the safest places, far from the prying eyes of surveillance cameras.

He soon found what he was looking for; though the chill of the evening required her to cover her obscene attire with an overcoat her painted face and high heels gave her away.  And what honest woman would be on the street alone, especially on a night like this?  He boldly walked up to her as she sheltered from the wind in the doorway of a decaying 20th century building and said “Good evening.”

Her smile revealed a face that might once have been pretty before it was ruined by indulgence in lusts of the flesh.  “Hi,” she said in a deceptively sweet voice.  “Since it’s an awful night to be out, you must be looking for some company.”

It disgusted him to have to be social with this creature, but he knew God would forgive him the deception necessary to get her alone where his work would not be disturbed.  “Yes, I am.  How much?”

“$200,” she said.  He inwardly recoiled; how could a woman sell herself so cheaply?  This foul creature was willing to fornicate with anyone for only a few hours’ wages at a real job!  But he kept his true feelings from his face and simply nodded.  Then she said, “I’m Tina; what’s your name?”

“John.”

She laughed.  “Well, that’s OK, Tina ain’t my real name either.  Come on, let’s get out of this weather.”  With that, she opened the door behind them and led him into the dingy foyer, up a gray concrete staircase which smelled faintly of urine, and down a dismal hall to her room.  After closing the door she removed her overcoat, revealing the sort of tacky, sluttish dress he expected.

She then told him to get comfortable; he knew what that meant.  Why didn’t these whores ever say anything directly?  Why did they have to cloak everything in lies and deceit?  It just made him that much angrier, and he concentrated on that righteous anger as he removed his overcoat, reaching into his pocket for the knife concealed there.

As he drew it out he tossed the overcoat aside and slammed his body into the whore, bearing her back onto the bed with all his weight; with his left hand choking her to stifle her screams he plunged the surgically-sharp blade into her body just below the left breast.  Again and again he drove the knife into her, with most of the blows landing in her abdomen.  Blood spattered his clothes, but no matter; his overcoat would cover it on his way home.  Like another demon-haunted soul of two centuries past, merely killing these fallen women was not enough for him; he wanted to mutilate them, to tear the flesh from them, to spill their entrails on the floor in order to completely destroy the organs they had so dishonored by their harlotry.  But before he could achieve the full release of anger he so badly needed, his knife-hand was abruptly stopped in mid-swing by a viselike grip on his wrist; the pressure was so intense that the knife dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers.

“You have the right to remain silent.”

The words were delivered in a quiet, steady soprano completely devoid of emotion, and for a moment he was confused as to their source; but the truth soon dawned on him as the mutilated prostitute sat up, his right wrist held immobile in her left hand.

“Anything you say will be recorded as all your words and actions up to now have been, and may be used in evidence in a court of law.”

It was like a nightmare or some horrible video; the mundane, prescribed words continued to pour calmly and evenly from the mouth of a woman who could not possibly be alive.  “You have the right to speak to an attorney.  If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.  Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?”

He nodded dumbly, and she continued.  “Please do not struggle; you cannot escape and I have no wish to cause unnecessary injury.  I have already called for the police and they will be here within a minute.  Do not be afraid; we understand that you are mentally ill and you will be taken to a facility where you can be helped.”

As if on cue, a squad of blue-armored policemen filed into the room, accompanied by two men in medical coats.  They began to move quietly around the room, taking pictures and collecting samples; one picked up his overcoat, and another lifted his fallen knife with gloved hands and transferred it to a plastic bag.  One of the medics examined him, shining a light into his eye while the other injected him with a spray hypodermic.  None of them spoke to him, nor he to any of them; after the medic released his head he simply sat there, staring at the mutilated belly of the whore, until a voice said “let’s go”.  Then the woman rose, drawing him up alongside of her, and as she stood a large slab of lacerated muscle fell from her body, revealing beneath a rib of stainless steel.

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