Raoul's First Murders Ch. 04

Seven years old and already there were scarier things in his life than New York City in 1976.

He never went back to King's, and after a year at Farquhar Academy back in Singapore — Raoul didn't get in trouble, but he did sneak off with the "bad boys" to watch the underground fights — his father managed to get him into Thorney, essentially an upper crust military school affiliated with the Royal Naval Academy.

That was where Raoul really learned to fight. Boxing, wrestling, martial arts, and just plain old boyish fisticuffs. It was the last school in Britain, they boasted, in which boxing was a required course, and the masters thought a little tussle outside of class wasn't at all a bad thing for boys. Raoul fought and grew his way to the social apex of that Thorney College, eventually becoming the three-time school boxing champion.

Then Amy died, of course.

———————

A few fast, light steps through the living room and he brings the pipe down on J. B.'s head as hard as he can.

There's a thud, but not as loud as Raoul feared, and J. B. just kind of flops over.

He's clearly out.

Raoul practically jumps up against a wall, pipe raised. He stands there.

Did anyone hear anything? Is anyone coming?

He listens. There's nothing. No sound but his pulse pounding, his ears ringing. Then he hears a snore from down the hall.

He has to think. What's more likely to work? The one in the bedroom further down the hall first, or the one in the bedroom right behind him?

It's the bedroom behind him, he guesses. Things could get a little more complicated if he got caught in the hall between two guys. So he inches along the wall, listening carefully, watching everything at once.

Very gingerly turns the doorknob, pushes the door in.

Listens, watches.

Turns to peek into the bedroom. Someone sleeping on his belly under a blanket. Magazines and clothing all over the floor.

It's to be done quickly, immediately and quickly, he realizes, and he leaps, bringing the pipe down as hard as he can on the head of whoever it is.

The bed springs whine, the bed bumps the wall loudly.

Shit! That's way, way too much noise.

Raoul leaps back to the wall next to the door, not even looking to see which one his second victim was.

He hears someone coming down the hall. Slow heavy steps.

He prepares to leap out and attack, but then — "Aw, shit," a woman's voice says.

Oh fuck. The brothers are not alone.

What does that mean? It means he should've staked this place out better. Now he's fucked. Who is she? What is he going to do?

As if to answer that question, she walks right into the room and sits on the bed.

"My ass is worn out," she says, "but I'll suck your dick. And then I gotta get out of here. Tyler's gonna kill me."

Jesus, he realizes, she's another crack whore. How many of them are there? He hears the desperation in her voice, sees her missing teeth. She apparently can't even see that he's holding a pipe.

"Yeah, suck it," Raoul says as quietly as he can. "Kneel down here and be quiet."

Poor woman. She has no business being mixed up in this, but what is he to do?

He has no idea what he's doing. No plan.

"You got to pay me first. I ain't stupid."

What is he going to do?

He points to the dresser. "The money's there."

She turns to look, and the pipe hits her in the back of her head. She collapses onto the floor with a cry.

But there's one more brother, and Raoul hears him.

He's up. He's in the bathroom, pissing. Raoul leaps through the hall into the living room, stands with his back against the wall next to the hallway.

The toilet flushes. The bathroom door opens.

"Shawna," the guy barks. "Where are you? Get back in here."

He begins to walk down the hall. Towards Raoul.

"You better not be fucking one of my brothers, bitch. I told you, I'm paying you, not them."

He steps into the hall — Raoul hesitates. The angle wasn't right for him to swing the pipe.

He sees Raoul.

It's Todd. Seeing Raoul, he freezes, eyes wide with fright and shock.

The angle just doesn't feel right to swing the pipe effectively, so Raoul just throws it at him and grabs him by the throat. They fall to the floor, Raoul landing on top of him. He chokes Todd with his right hand, batters his face with his left. Todd kicks and squirms, but Raoul is just too big and powerful for him.

Feeling his advantage, Raoul manages to spin them around in the hall so that he can watch both directions, making sure he doesn't get ambushed from either side.

But no one comes. Gradually the fight flows out of Todd. Raoul, now with both hands squeezing Todd's neck as hard as he can, watches his eyes fade, feels the resistance in his body weaken, then collapse.

Even after he seems to be gone, Raoul goes on choking, wanting to make sure he's gone.

Finally he feels safe to let go a moment. Staying on top of Todd, just in case, he reaches the pipe and beats Todd with it three times, hard.

Now he's sure. He's got a moment. He goes through the house, makes sure no one else is there. A little paranoid, he checks closets, looks behind doors and under beds, poking around roughly with the pipe just to be sure. He hits all of the men a couple more times with the pipe as well. Better safe than sorry. The woman — he'll have to figure her out later.

The next thing is to get the duct tape and rope from the bag. He wraps the tape around their heads, completely covering their mouths and eyes, then around their wrists and ankles. Taking no chances, he ties a noose in each rope. He'd planned to hang them, and he should've tied these nooses beforehand to save time, but then he can't find anything in the house to hang them from, so he simply presses his boot into each of their heads as he pulls the ropes ruthlessly tight around their necks, watching with horror and pride as the color in their faces change.

Todd's, however, doesn't change. He was done already.

With my bare hands, Raoul gloats. With my fucking bare hands.

Threaten my family again, motherfucker, he silently mocks the corpse. See what happens.

When he's satisfied that the men are completely dead, suddenly he's calm. His heart slows down. He's a god. He can see and hear everything — a dog barks from two or three houses away. There's a jet somewhere. The bathtub faucet drips. The woman breathes heavily. The first light of dawn begins to shine soft blue through the cracks in the curtains.

After making sure the woman is still soundly out, he puts the bodies in the bedroom, unlocks the front door, checks the street, and then goes back through the backyard, walking as calmly as he can, to the Ihaul. He drives it around to the front of the house, backing it across the grass as close to the front door as he can get it.

It's almost close enough — he's tempted just to carry the bodies out and throw them in the back of the Ihaul, but he knows this is an odd hour to load a moving truck, so anyone awake is more likely than usual to be watching, and the dawn is just bright enough that a body could be seen across the street.

So he slides the box out of the Ihaul, rolls it into the house on the hand truck. Inside, he opens the box, puts the bodies into the closet, taping them all together. He barely resists the urge to tape the closet shut — after all, if someone were for some reason to see a closet in an Ihaul, that would be no big deal, but seeing a closet taped shut would be a little more interesting.

He has to remind himself: they're dead. He has nothing to worry about as far as that goes. The closet might as well be their coffin; they're not coming out of it by themselves.

Finally, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, he wheels the closet out on that hand truck. Now it must weigh five hundred pounds, much heavier than he'd anticipated, so he just kind of levers it into the Ihaul, scooting it over the floor with hard shoves.

Closing the Ihaul, he goes back into the house to look around. Is there anything left undone, anything he can do to make things more confusing for anyone who might investigate.

He finds their wallets, takes most of their money, drops the rest of it with their wallets next to the woman.

He considers killing her of course but decides to leave her there in the house. If she's dead, let someone find her. Maybe they'll think Todd and his brothers killed her and fled.

No, that's stupid. If they killed her, they'd get rid of her body somehow, not flee their house.

But maybe she'll ransack the house, make a mess no one can sort out.

The idea of raping her occurs to Raoul as well, but he shakes that off. What the fuck good would that do?

Otherwise, it's almost too damn easy.

He finds their keys and realizes he'd better stop dawdling. Should he tow their car somewhere? No that's just more trouble, something else that might be noticed.

In the end, he simply drives away, amazed at the ease of it, amazed that he has walked into a house, taken three men's lives, and simply driven away with the corpses in the back of a truck.

Remembering the fear in Todd's eyes fills him with elation. That motherfucker planned to hurt his family. He knew exactly what was happening, exactly who was killing him and why.

Couldn't have planned it better.

———————

He leaves the Ihaul in a parking lot several blocks from Kappy, even further away than before, deciding it's better to walk an extra block and reduce the risk of anyone from Kappy seeing him hitching up the dolly or putting his bike on it.

Then he walks — rather quickly, but trying not to look too interesting — back up the alley to Kappy's back door. Inside, everything seems fine. Seems like everyone has slept through the night, not seeing him go or come back.

As calmly as he can, he goes into Maricel's room. He's tempted to leave, but he knows he needs a witness that he was "still" there in the morning. He saved Maricel for last, guessing that she's most likely to divulge that he came to her room, and to repeat what he tells her.

"Hey," he says, quietly, sitting on the bed next to her.

Her eyes open and she smiles happily up at him.

"Sleeping well?" he asks her, stroking the hair on the side of her head.

She nods.

"I'm really worn out," he says, apologetically, "and I need to go home soon, but I was really hoping you'd give me a blow job before I leave."

"Me?" she asks, surprised.

"Yeah. At the party, it seemed like, well, like you'd be really good at it."

"Me? Why?"

"Because you would want to be good at it. That's all it takes. You'd be happy to do things like lick my balls and kiss it really slowly and stuff, just everything you could do to make me feel good. At least that's how it seemed at the party. Was I wrong? You don't have to if you don't—"

"No, you're right. I would love to give you..." she hesitates, so he leans forward to complete her sentence whispering in her ear.

"A blow job."

"Yeah," she agrees. "A blow job."

"I know you probably wanted to fuck me," he says, caressing her cheek. "But I'm just too worn out. I feel asleep in — well, of course I shouldn't tell you who's room I fell asleep in."

"No, you should tell me," she pleads, smiling cutely. "I won't tell."

"I know you wouldn't," he lies, "but I shouldn't tell you anyway. Still, if you don't mind sucking my dick, I'd really like that."

"No, I don't mind at all," she says, sitting up in bed.

"Would you mind doing it naked?" he asks. "I'd like to see you naked again."

"Sure," she shrugs.

While he unbuttons her pajama top, she reaches up to touch him.

"You're really sweaty," she tells him in the hall, "are you okay? Your shirt collar's even wet from it."

"I'm afraid my illness is returning," he says. "My heart is racing too. We should hurry so I can get back home."

"How should I do this?" she asks when he's pulled her pajama top off.

"How about just kneeling on the floor while I sit here?"

Assuming that she'll agree, he drops some pillows on the floor for her knees.

"Okay," she says, "but can I ask something really bad?"

"Of course."

"I want to do it on Joy's bed. You can lay down or sit up, but I want to do it on Joy's bed."

He smiles at her. Suddenly something awakens in him.

He's a fuckin murderer. He can fuck her all morning if he wants. His cock will go forever.

"I like your style, Maricel Cruz," he tells her. "Once you get me hard, I should fuck you on her bed doggy-style."

"You'd do that for me?" she coos.

"I'm going to get a handful of your hair and pull it to make you arch your back better," he tells her as he pulls his own shirt over his head. "And I'm going to slap your ass a bit while we fuck. That's the naughtiest way to do doggy style, and that's exactly what we should do in Joy's bed. To honor her legacy."

He stands up.

"Take my pants off and suck my dick, you naughty little sweet thing, you. And finger yourself to make yourself good and wet."

"Like this?" she smirks up at him, pulling his pants down to his ankles.

"Like that. Lick those balls, girl. Hell, yes, kiss them, work up that cum in them. Fuck yes. Fondle them now, and kiss that big fucking pipe. Make love to it with your lips and tongue. Fuck, yeah. Don't forget to finger yourself: you need to be ready too."

She's too good at her work — clearly she's either done this in real life or in her imagination.

"Climb up on Joy's bed. Let me see you naked."

He stands next to the bed as she strips.

"Good. Fuck yes, you're fucking hot. I'm goinna fuck your brains out. Now while you suck my dick, spread your legs and touch yourself. I want to watch you finger yourself."

She does as he says, but she seems insecure about it. He helps her, rubbing her clit and fingering her. He puts the thumb of his other hand in her mouth to distract her from his dick. She needs to focus on the sensations around her pussy.

"Cum all over her bed," he tells her. "Let that pussy moisture flow."

Before long the orgasm takes her, shaking her body. She cries loudly — surely the girls in neighboring rooms will have heard her.

When the convulsions subside, he steers her around, lifts her hips to his cock.

"When did your last period end?" he asks, rubbing his dick at the entrance of her pussy.

"Yesterday," she says. For some reason he suspects she's lying, but that's her problem, he thinks, as he eases himself into her tight, virgin pussy.

She cries aloud again. She's a noisy one.

"Fuck, yeah," Raoul encourages, squeezing her waist. "I love your fucking pussy."

"I love your cock," she whines quickly, barely able to get so many words out in one breath. "Fuck me, Raoul, please. Oh, fuck!"

He begins to thrust, gripping her waist.

She's not very attractive, but she's at least average, and she's enthusiastic and loud and he's having a good time.

He grabs her hair, as he'd said he would, and pulls her head back, so her back arches like Coach Roberta doing pilates.

"Oh, fuck!" she practically shouts. She either does not care that the rest of the girls know what's happening, or she wants them to know.

"Fuck, yeah," he encourages again, smacking her hip. "Fuck yeah!" he smacks it again.

She lets out a howl like a siren as her body stiffens and begins to shake in the throes of her second orgasm. He crams his cock all the way into her pussy and shakes his cum as deep in her as he can, willing it into her womb.

"Make me a fucking baby," he growls. "I want a fucking baby."

Exhausted, she lets her face collapse into the bed, while he holds her hips against him until his last drop of cum has oozed into her.

———————

Just in case anyone hasn't heard Maricel, he wakes Yvonne up before he leaves.

"Hey, I've got to go work out," he tells her.

Her roommate, Mi-Young, wakes up too.

"Already?" Mi-Young whines.

"I'm exhausted," he apologizes. "I fell asleep for a long time in one of the girl's rooms. I'm planning to go camping today too, but I'm not sure I can do it."

"Camping?" Yvonne asks. "Where?"

"King's Canyon. I'm gonna drive my Jeep out there a bit at least. Maybe I'll spend the night up there in the mountains. If I feel up to it. My fever's come back, though," he says, lifting Yvonne's fingers to his shirt collar. "I've been sweating all night."

"Oh no, Raoul, you're really sick!" Yvonne jumps up then.

"Same as I've been all week and it didn't worry you then," he teases.

"I didn't know!" she protests. "You need to go home."

"I will. Then I'll work out, and if I feel up to it I'll go into the mountains. I think the mountain air will do me good. Anyway, tell the girls I had a good time tonight, and tell the ones that I didn't get too — like you, Mi-Young, I wish I'd had time to get to you, but I'll be back as soon as I can to see all of you again."

"Can't you stay just a few more minutes?" Mi-Young whines.

He looks at Yvonne.

"I'm going," she says. "My god, Raoul."

As soon as the door is closed, he turns to Mi-Young.

"You're so fucking hot, so pretty, so sexy, I was really hoping your name would come up tonight, but I'm exhausted. Let's just take a quick shower. I'll come back and fuck you another time."

"At least let me suck it," Mi-Yong begs. "Remember, I was the winner last time? I'm good at it!"

"Oh, believe me, I remember, and I know you are good at it. Let's get in the shower, wash each other up, and see if you can get me hard."

———————

In front of Kappy house, he ostentatiously revs the engine of his bike, hoping more of the will notice him leaving, and then he rides off —

Only to the parking lot, of course, where he puts his bike on the dolly. Then he drives the Ihaul out to the campground where he left his Jeep. Along the way he reflects proudly on how well he has done everything, on how easy it has been for him.

The three brothers, they had it coming. He exults at the thought that his family is safe.

He could've killed the woman, but he restrained himself. She could, maybe, describe him a little to the police, but they'll never take anything she said very seriously. He basically saved her life. And if she's smart, maybe she'll even live there for a while, eating their food and everything.

How lovely that would be. Just make a big, grand, confusing mess of the placee.

The sweat Maricel found, he hadn't thought of that, but then he immediately knew how to use it to his advantage. Now they'll think he's really been sick. That'll be all there is to it. His story holds together.

The Kappy girls will never figure out where he's been. If they put their stories together and find a few hours missing, they'll assume someone's not telling. They'll be trying to figure out whose room he fell asleep in. Even if some of them saw him go or come back, he'll just say he needed to take a walk to cool off.

And he's so calm, not nearly as shaky as he feared he'd be. He wouldn't want to talk to a cop right now, but he handled Maricel and Yvonne and Mi-Young like an experienced serial killer.

He's even hungry, and he stops in at a diner along the road to order a big breakfast. While he eats, he reads the sports page of the LA Globe exactly as if he didn't have the bodies of three murdered men in the truck outside. He sits there drinking an extra cup of coffee and flirting with the waitress, a blonde who's too skinny and has bad teeth. She gives him her number on the receipt, writing, "For a good time call," above it.

And for a moment he thinks: maybe I should be a serial killer. I'm pretty good at this....

He shakes himself. No. This is it. No more of this. From here on out it's the decent bourgeois life for me. No more motorcycle gangs or strippers....