The serene musical sound of blues played on the wobbly record player, as a pair of black leather-gloved hands finished stacking the last bullet upright on the wooden work table. The strange silvery white sheen of the casings that would otherwise be brass, contrasted the ordinary looking 45 caliber jacketed soft points sticking out of them. As the smooth piano solo began, the hands picked up the long gray magazine. He began loading the odd bullets, casually, as they turned and rotated like a p90 magazine, the butt of the rounds visible through the smoky gray plastic.
The fizzing sound of a cigarette drag preceded the distinct click of the magazine being loaded into a gun with a slap, followed by the click of a safety. A pair of rubber boots walked across the wooden floor to the nearby stack of plumbing supplies and pipes, grabbing a particular black-painted copper pipe and some square tubing, sliding the pipe in and twisting it till it locked.
“Bum bum, bum bum.” Whispered the voice, mouthing the blues guitar licks as he finished the cigarette and put it out. “Sorry Gwen. I know we don’t spend much time together anymore, but work is work, and God works in mysterious ways.” He sighed softly, climbing the metal ladder out of the basement and closing the hatch. The creak of a wooden bed being lowered over it in an unlit room as the only sound. “I’m glad we get a night out for a change.” He said, petting the rifle and leaving the room.
The sound of crickets and cicada, roared in the night air as the same dark figure in a trench coat and rain hood plopped a camouflage fiberglass ladder to the side of a tree, climbing it and tossing around a ratchet strap to secure it. He found a nice sturdy limb to sit on, clipping his belt to the strap and getting situated. He kicked his feet casually, taking in the cool night air and listening to his single headphone with the sound of upbeat jazz piano as he dug under his left arm and pulled out an object, roughly a foot long boxy rectangle. He clicked out a handle, locking it in place, pulling an extending stock from the rear and locking it down, he began slowly screwing on the piece of threaded pipe and placed a small night vision scope on the slide rail, locking it to the rear and shouldering the weapon, now a good 3 feet long. He took the safety off, waiting patiently in the dark.
About 30 minutes later, he watched the lights of a few trucks pull into the clearing, turning off his headphone and pulling the cross necklace from his shirt, whispering softly, almost silently.
“God, give me the strength and steadiness to do your work, the wisdom to listen to your words, and the patience to resist temptations, for they are abundant. Amen.” He said, tucking it back in his shirt. He tucked his elbow into the nook of a tree limb and rested the rifle, looking down the scope. He adjusted his glasses to see better, fighting the bifocals and, with an annoyance huff, removing them and getting a different pair from his inside coat pocket. Taking position again. On went the thermal scope, and the glow of 6 bodies walking around a central object became visible. 2 glowed a dim red, and 4 of them were as white as the truck headlights. “There you are…looks like a mixed batch. Yes I know, temptations. I haven’t forgotten.” He said to himself softly. He moved the crosshairs down to the center mass of the furthest target. “Two hundred and seven yards.” He mouthed, doing the math in his head and aiming slightly higher. “Guide my bullets with your grace.” He said, pulling the trigger. The gun fired a 2 shot automatic burst, splattering red across the truck hood. He moved to the next one, pulling the trigger again, another burst of 2 rounds planted the second target to the ground. He proceeded to kill a third time, and on the 4th target he paused, unsure if he was in front of or behind the dim red target. “Move, you little shit.” He whispered, his finger twitching and the sudden urge to fire through him and move on to the last man standing, to take him out as well. He knew the rules, waiting for the red man to step aside before double-tapping the white target. He exhaled slowly, the rush of the kill surging to his head like a shot of heroin, and he very deliberately took his hand off the grip, holding it to the side so he wouldn’t be tempted to keep firing. The deep urge to just kill them all, dimming down as he breathed. 4 white targets were down, slowly getting dimmer and more orange, as the two red ones got smaller in the distance, jumping into their vehicle and peeling out in the dirt as they hauled both their living asses out of the death trap.
“Thank you lord for this bounty.” He sighed, as if enjoying the most delicious steak one has ever known. Savoring the moment and making his way down from the tree to make sure they were dead. He lit a cigarette and by the dim glow a smile curled into his face, tapping the ash out into a metal tin to hide the evidence. “Well, the lord does provide, doesn’t he, Gwen?” he chuckled. Grabbing something from the boxes and bundling them under his coat. “Maybe just one, actually. Don’t wanna get greedy. After all, greed is a sin, and that’s what gets you caught.” He said as he kicked the dead bodies lightly and checked again on the thermal scope to confirm they were very dead. He picked up one of the dead guy’s phones and dialed 911, holding his phone near the other phone.
“Hello, 911 what’s your emergency.” Said the voice. He pressed play as the text to speech played the pre-typed message.
“HELP! I heard shots in the woods. A lot of them.” Said the female voice. “Shortly after, I saw a red truck going north really fast from off-road, the license plate JH 50744. I think maybe they killed someone.” The voice said as he hung up.
He made his way south, through the woods, back to his van, parked off to the side of the road. He climbed in the back, removing his plastic coat similar to the cleaner's from the dentist office slaying. He removed his ski mask to reveal a very ordinary looking man, graying beard, wrinkles, Caucasian and strangely forgettable. He proceeded taking his boots off and peeling away the fake flats, placing them in the paper shredder. He turned to his wooden desk, pulling the top off and revealing that the solid wood desk was hollowed out. He pulled some of the Styrofoam blocks out and took his brand new, stolen MP5 submachine gun, tucking it in firmly and blocking it with the foam, as well as Gwen, his mysterious disassembled rifle, which he handled with far greater care before heaving the top back up. He opened his little wood stove and tossed in his shoe scraps with a little charcoal, wiping himself down from head to toe with some alcohol wet wipes and tossing them in with some paper notes, lighting a fire and closing the door.
He drove off slowly and steadily to the main road and began his long drive home. He picked up his phone and hesitantly swiped to the name Catherine, waiting for a pickup.
“Hey. Sorry it’s late. I had a casual night out and wanted to call.” He sighed.
“Mike…it’s 1AM.” Said an exhausted female voice.
“I know Catherine. I went to the casino.”
“Please tell me you didn’t drink anything, especially since I know you’re driving home. I can hear that piece of shit van you won’t get rid of.” She replied.
“No. I just had to take Gwen out somewhere she could have fun.”
“Mike, you know Gwen is dead.” She reminded.
“I know…but taking her necklace out makes me feel less alone. I know with God, I’m never alone, but I needed Gwen tonight, so I went to the casino up in Princeton and made a few bets, had a few non-alcoholic cocktails. Took my shots at the horse races instead of the bar. I won, 4 out of 8 of those shots did the job. Ended up with a little bonus prize to take home.” He grinned.
“You always seem to make money gambling. I swear you’re too lucky. I would say as your sponsor that gambling can be an addiction that just replaces the alcohol, but you seem to be doing okay with it. So why are you calling me?”
“I…had a moment of temptation. A nice stranger bought me a few shots of vodka to celebrate, and I declined, but they were left right there in front of me. I could have taken those 2 shots and nobody would have known except me and God, and for a fraction of a second I visualized it, had them in my sights. I know it’s wrong. Those weren’t my mission. My mission was 8 bets, a determined and set amount, but every time I go out to the casino I know there will be tempting shots around me, and the fact that I want to take them, almost like a reflex, scares me. But I can’t quit going. This is part of my job. Plumbing and handyman work doesn’t pay the best, I have some hobbies that require the extra income, so you could say gambling and taking risk is a big part of my job and I do enjoy the rush and the risk. But the temptations sometimes get in my way and cross my path and I just don’t like that I still want to go for it.” he sighed.
“You really still believe god wants you to risk it, and make money betting?” she asked, sounding almost annoyed.
“You know, just between us, I still hear his voice guiding me. The only reason I can do handyman work and charge people so little is because of the winnings. I’m helping people, water heaters, midnight plumbing jobs, people who can’t afford a 900 dollar bill on fixed incomes. I can’t do that free shit all the time and pay my own bills, you know. God makes sure I always make just enough gambling to comfortably keep doing my job, and the odds of winning by sheer luck are low. So we know I’m no card counter or Poker champion, how else do I get so lucky?” He said, looking down at a box of 9mm ammo he left in the seat. “I made about 1800 dollars tonight in about an hour, only spent about 80.”
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“Jesus…why are you not buying powerball tickets?” she asked.
“God doesn’t want me to be rich and spoiled, tempted to retire on my ass. I could have been greedy and kept going, but I could have also lost all of it doing that. I was to make win 4 bets, I did and walked away better than I started. That’s a few plumbing jobs some little old lady or struggling mom can’t afford that I can just do for free now. I’m helping people, and in a roundabout way tonight I helped 2 people out, I resisted temptations and I feel good. I enjoy these outings and I know it’s just Gwen’s... necklace, and it doesn’t feel anything. It’s just metal and sentiment, but Gwen needed to get out, and having her there in some metaphorical way made it better. Sorry to bother you so late, I know it’s rude, but I needed someone to talk to. It gets lonely.”
“Have you considered dating?”
“Actually, I’m meeting a woman tomorrow. I’m technically offering her a job, but with the work piling up there’s no time to date. This is purely for her plumbing skills. For now, I’ll just deal with my very functio-” he cut off abruptly slamming the brakes and swerving as he… almost fully stopped, before a loud thump stole his attention. “I gotta go…I just hit a deer.” He said hanging up quickly and white-knuckle gripping the wheel. “Lord, please tell me that was not what I think it was. Tell me that was not what I think it was, and my old eyes played tricks on me. Please…let it be a deer.” He sighed, taking a breath and slowly staring at the road as a human figure stood up. “Fuck!” he barked, calming himself and getting out of the car. A young woman adjusted her back, fluffing the dirt from her short black hair and a beat-up black leather jacket, in a confused daze.
“You serious?” She yelled.
“I am so sorry, I don’t know…why were you in the road at 1AM?” he asked.
“There’s no sidewalk douchebag, it’s a highway. Where am I gonna walk? The ditch?”
“You don’t walk, you get a ride or call a cab or something. I could have killed you, you need a hospital.”
“No, no hospitals. And yea I’ll just call my personal limo driver or call a helicopter. Bitch I’m broke, I just gotta get places, were you speeding, or drunk?”
“I was driving under the limit, and I don’t drink.” he objected.
“You got any money?” She asked. “Be nice to have some cash so I can chill at a motel or something if I have a concussion.”
“You can’t sleep with a concussion, that’s the point. You really need a hospital.” Mike insisted.
“No, no hospital, I’m fine. Look, no bleeding, I can walk a stra-” she staggered. “Okay a little wobbly but honestly that’s just how I am. I’m fine. Maybe a bit tipsy.”
“Get in the van.” he sighed.
“You abducting me now?” She joked.
“I’m not that kind of preacher, but I’m not leaving you here. I’ll drive you into town, drop you off at the ER and what you do from there is between you and God.”
They headed down the highway as she pounded down an energy drink.
“So what’s your deal?” She asked.
“No deal, just heading home.” Mike sighed.
“No I mean the van. You got like an office and a buncha tools and shit. You like a traveling tool salesman?” She asked.
“Handyman.” Mike replied.
“Cool.” The kid said, noticing the cross necklace and the picture at the desk of him and his family in front of a church. “Holyman/Handyman. Weird combo, but okay.”
“Jesus was a carpenter. If they had indoor plumbing and gas lines back then, he probably would have dabbled in that.”
“What’s with the 9 mills?” She said nudging the ammo boxes on the floor.
“Shit…I do a little target shooting at home.” He sighed.
“Yea, I noticed the Glock under your shirt. Those water heaters must get really aggressive. Holyman, Plumber, strapped up with a 9 on his way home from a late night repair job, pickin up hitchhikers.”
“Everyone is allowed to protect himself and their family, even with lethal force, if he feels his life is in danger or the lives of others. And I’m not a family man anymore. That’s an old picture back there. I’m not a preacher anymore, either. I’m just a handyman with faith, who likes to be prepared. You do late night jobs at strange houses, you never know what creeps you might get. And it’s not a Glock, it’s an HK45.”
“HK’s are pretty expensive; you know you can get a Glock pretty cheap. Cops carry em.”
“Your life is an investment worth overspending on. Never go cheap on personal defense. There’s a reason they cost more. Better springs, exposed hammer, double or single action decocking safety, more comfortable grip, larger trigger guard. Navy SEALs use them for tactical missions. Granted they use the compact with the threaded barrel for suppressors, but luckily I don’t need that, I do need the comfort of the extra few rounds, hence the extended mag. Glocks are great for gangbangers and law enforcement. Have you seen the level of incompetence in local law enforcement and common thugs versus the discipline of a trained Navy SEAL?” he smirked.
“Well that’s for damn sure right. You know a lot about guns for a plumber.” she said with an eyebrow raise.
“I need to pull over for a moment.” He said, abruptly doing so in a hurry. He stepped out of the car, pacing nervously around the back, looking both angry and exhausted as he talked to himself. “You can’t be serious. The kid’s a drug addict.” He whispered alone, waiting for a reply. “I’m not…I’m not doubting, I’m just confirming to make sure there’s no error in my understanding. Fuck…fine. Fine. I’m not arguing, I’m just stressed. I’m aware I’m also a criminal, that’s kind of the reason I’m uneasy. No, I’ll do it. I’ll do it. I don’t want to do it, but I’ll do it. FUCK” he huffed, opening the back of the van and digging through his drawers for something.
“You good?” the kid asked.
“Just looking for something real quick.” Mike said, grabbing his thermal goggles and turning them on as he undid his shirt. To expose the gun. “This may sound really stupid to you, but I believe things happen for a reason." He finished, reading 98.6, and getting back in the car with the gun in his hand, a silencer on it. She looked nervously at him, waiting for a moment to strike.
“You seem really on edge, is there something wrong?” she asked.
“Yea…I’m going to have to kill you.” He sighed. Before he could utter another word, the flash of a rainbow colored Tanto point knife stopped an inch from his throat.
“Gun down, wallet and ID, hands on the wheel.” She said firmly. He smiled, strangely relieved.
“Had to make sure it was really you. So what is that, 5 kills now with that knife?” He asked, tightening his grip on her wrist so she couldn’t move it further, and pointing the gun casually to her side. “I have the upper hand, kid.” He smirked. “You’re not overpowering me with that knife, let alone before I could shoot you.” He said as a light click got his attention and her other hand brought a tiny pistol to eyeball level, and the van started rolling.
“What are you doing? Stop the car. Stop the car or I’ll shoot.” she insisted.
“40mph and climbing, alone on a dark road going faster with my foot on the gas. You kill me with no seatbelt on, you’re dead too…60….65.”
“Old man, I’m not afraid to die.” She squinted.
“That’s your problem. That’s why you don’t clean your crime scenes. Fingerprints on the lamp-pull on kill number 3, Witness saw you leaving kill 5, if you weren’t wearing that wig, they could have given a description of a lone girl with short black hair, or found the knife. That’s twice in 5 kills you were caught and didn’t know it.
“I knew it, fucking cop. Detective, special FBI agent?”
“Plumber, handyman. No badge, no bacon. Your secret’s safe with me.” he said.
“Then how the hell did you know all that?” she growled, jabbing him lightly.
“Because I’m the one who cleaned it up, and the reason you’re not in prison. So you owe me, and you’re gonna take the knife off my neck and the pea-shooter out of my damn ear.” He said, as she removed the knife and kept the gun down and ready.
“I owe you? So what do you want, free fuck, free favor, You know I don’t have money, I don’t even have a home."
"And…you need a place to stay and lay low. Free room and board, free meals, I won’t preach or make you go to church, I don’t even go myself. Just a few basic house rules and you gotta pull your weight with the work.” He said.
“This work involve one of us on our knees…preacher? That’s gonna cost a lot more than a room and some food?”
“I know the stereotype and I promise only about one in…like 8 preachers are like that, again, I’m not even a preacher anymore. I retired a long time ago. But I’ve been really considering hiring an apprentice. I was following you, planned to catch up to you sometime tomorrow…And then you stepped right into my path, and I bet you’d be thrilled just to have a couch to crash on and free food.” He said getting out a cigarette and lighting it, yanking it away as the kid reached for it, “Don’t smoke kid, these things will kill you. Lotta deadly things are addictive as hell.”
“Bitch, I’ve killed 5 people, you really don’t want to be tempting me.” She said.
“Honey, I’ve killed 4 people in the last hour and if you stepped out any faster, I’d have your whole life's killcount tied in under 65 minutes.
“Who are you?” She asked.
“I’m your new boss. You passed the interview, Welcome to Finn Plumbing and other less advertised wetwork. I’m Michael Finn."
“Thank…you?” she squinted.
“And do you have a name, aside from the Decatur Decapitator?”
“WHAT!?” That’s what the cops are calling me? I-wh…I took one guys head off. ONE!”
“Well, it was your first confirmed kill. They tend to associate the name with the first one.” he shrugged.
“Well fuck me in the balls, so I’m stuck with it? Great. I’m Tanner. What did they stick you with?”
“Nothing. I have about 8 serial killer case names floating around. They don’t know they’re the same person. Magnesium killer, Molotov brothers, Mister black…I like that one actually, I may do another Mister Black soon, uh, Oh, the Lakeshot Shooter.” he casually added with a proud grin.
“SHUT UP!” she blurted. “You are not the Lakeshot shooter. That’s bullshit.”
“How do you know?” he shrugged. “They never caught the guy or IDed him.”
“You’re like 60, the guy they’re looking for is like a… British spy or ex US sniper fresh from Afghanistan.”
“I know. They wouldn’t believe I’m the guy if I confessed at the station.”
“How…how did you possibly make that shot? Nobody could make that shot, that’s why it made headlines.” She barked.
“Stick around, I’ll tell you another time.” He yawned. "You like scrambled eggs, I’m starving. I’m gonna have some eggs back at the cabin.” He finished as she sat wide eyes and speechless.