Free Pure Hate by Wrath James White

profile after the second
killing, but that was the limit of their involvement. Since the killer
apparently hadn’t crossed state lines it was still a PPD case, it was still his
case. He might call the feds in on this one just to get some feedback from the
big heads at their Behavioral Science Department. Maybe he could get them to
work up another profile of the Family Man to see if he could really be
responsible for all those other murders, to see if he could really be Malcolm
Davis. After a few hours of sifting through fingerprints, he gave up and called
it a night. When he left the station there was no question where he was headed.
He made a beeline for the Star Bar, a beeline for CC.
    She was just counting out her tips
when he walked in. She had already changed out of her dance costume and was
wearing a gray sweat suit with Reebok tennis shoes and no socks. All her makeup
had been washed off and her blonde hair hung limply to her shoulders. CC looked
like she had just left an aerobics class. She was sexy as hell, even sexier
than she’d been when dancing. When she saw him, CC beamed and then blushed.
    “I’ve been waiting for you. I thought
you weren’t going to show. I . . . I was almost wishing you didn’t.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I knew that if you did, I wouldn’t be able to say no to you.” She blushed
again and stared at her shoes.
    “Let’s go.” He draped an arm around
her, hugging her close, and started to walk toward the door.
    “Uh . . . I’ll meet you out back. I
can’t let the manager see me leave with a customer. It’s against the rules. I
could get fired. You know, some of the girls have been caught turning tricks so
they had to make it a rule or else the place could get shut down.”
    “Oh, yeah, that makes sense. I’m in
the white Dodge.”
    “I’ll be out in about five minutes. I
don’t want it to look too obvious.” She had that shy embarrassed look again.
    James smiled and walked out. He was
in his car, gnawing on another White Owl cigar, when she came out looking
nervous, excited and still embarrassed. James stuck the cigar in the ashtray
and popped half-a-dozen wintergreen Tic-Tacs into his mouth, chewing them up
before CC reached the car. When CC slid into the passenger seat, he pulled her
close and kissed her. He wasn’t sure if the Tic-Tacs had covered the taste of
the cigar, but she didn’t seem to mind.
    He took his time that night. He made
love with his heart, his soul, his lips, tongue, hands, his entire body. He
wanted her to be thinking of him when she went home to her husband. He knew he would be thinking of her.

XI.
    Malcolm knew Paul was angry, but he held his
tongue. The sidekick’s anger hadn’t yet made him stupid enough to be
disobedient, which was good. Malcolm didn’t want him to have to die before the
fun was over. But he could see that something was bugging him.
    “Why didn’t you let me kill Reed? You
promised! Now the cops’ll be all over us. We’re going to get caught and
sentenced to death. We had that bastard on his knees, crying and begging, and
you spared him. Why?”
    “None of your fucking business, white
boy. You think I owe your ass an explanation?”
    “When are we going back for Reed?” Paul asked.
    Malcolm was deep in thought. He wasn’t about to
answer Paul’s question and, if the white boy opened his mouth again, he would
hurt him. Malcolm was thinking about Reed. He was reliving Reed’s terror, his
pain. It had been perfect and he wanted more.
    Didn’t Paul understand that if he
killed Reed he wouldn't be able to hurt him again, that he wouldn’t be able to
enjoy the sweet ecstasy of vengeance?
    Reed’s pain would be over and so
would Malcolm’s whole reason for living. The hate that drove him would have no
target, no focus. Reed had to live so that Malcolm could keep hurting him. The
game was just beginning. Malcolm had made the first move. Now it was Reed’s
turn. Malcolm couldn’t end the game, only Reed could.
    Never