RATED M DUE TO: Graphic Violence, Graphic Sexuality, Strong Profanity, Racism, and animal cruelty/violence
PATRICK
There's nothing like an intense kill to make me want to sleep things off.
After the cleanup and the dumping of the body, I drove home and nestled into my emperor-sized, satin-sheet bed.
I cancelled my morning appointments with Nina, my underqualified yet beautiful, receptionist, which really weren't all that many to begin with; a newlywed couple that just came into a big inheritance, and a desperate ex-husband trying to salvage what his greedy bitch of an ex-wife left for him.
I told Nina to tell my clients I was called away due to "urgent deadlines that moved up", and to try to fit them in this afternoon or evening.
By the tone of her voice, she probably thought I was in the throes of a bad hangover. I wasn't hung over, not really, at least not from alcohol. When it came down to it, I was still intoxicated, riding my blood high.
After awhile of almost orgasmic reveling in last night's memories while in bed, I woke up, and went down for brunch in my kitchen. My daytime housekeeper Antonia must've known what time I'd get up, and she had one of my favorite breakfasts ready; a Monte Cristo breakfast sandwich, with raspberry preserves, fresh lychee, and a tall cup of freshly ground El Injerto Guatemalan coffee; you could even smell the freshness. She even threw in a side of Spanish style eggs, her specialty, for extra measure. For most of my adult life, I'd resigned myself to the comforts I've come to know and love, however since moving to Miami, a little bit of the culture has rubbed off onto me. Not the filthy, lawnmowing Wetback side of the culture, but more of the aristocratic, Hispanic Don side of it. I paid them better than what they'd be making with anyone else, still just a drop in the bucket as far as my pocketbook was concerned, but even within the bowels of human culture I could still afford the shiniest of kidney stones that could be offered.
"Muy bien Antonia." I complimented the help. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Gracias Señor Patrick." replied Antonia. "Only the best for mi más jefe preferido!"
I looked it up after she always made a point of saying that, and it turned out it meant something like "my favorite boss in the world" or some sappy term of endearment like that. It was a shit language, but I had to make sure the help wasn't insulting me.
Learning a little bit of Spanish did help me out with discovering that once, when my previous housekeeper, a hot little Cuban by the name of Carla Echemendia, decided to try and pull the wool over my eyes by calling me a "maricón", and claiming it was a term used in Cuba to describe a tall, handsome man. What a naïve little cunt of a Spic! Did she not even realize I would do my homework and learn she just called me a faggot?!
Needless to say, I fired her from my employ, and later on, fired her from her life. She didn't even make it a quarter of the way home, and I had her back at one of my apartments. I made sure to rape the living shit out of her first before I punished her for the insult. There's nothing more humility-inducing than making someone swallow oven cleaner.
After breakfast, I turned on the television, and turned it to WPLG Local 10 to keep a pulse on Miami's news. Once again, I made the top headlines, with my dirty deeds. It's a pity I can't advertise my work, I'd love to sign autographs up and down the block for adoring fans. Yet, this was the real world.
I sipped on my coffee as I relaxed on the couch in my bathrobe, listening to Jen Herrera narrate my stardom to the public.
"Another mutilated body has turned up in Liberty City Miami." reported Herrera. "The body of 20-year-old Cuban prostitute, Rosa Hernandez, was discovered in an alley behind a self-service laundromat at 12:20pm this afternoon."
I knew that alley was a good idea. All I'd really seen near that laundromat were the occasional junkies and homeless drunks, which I also enjoy killing on the fly when I'm not in a hurry. I suppressed the urge to laugh out loud, and I wasn't even sure what I should be laughing for; the fact that I dumped her in a city so callous no one even bothered to do anything until the afternoon, the fact that it took police that long to get to the scene, or simply because of my cunning and guile in getting away with it.
They say laugh, and the world laughs with you. In many of my cases however, laugh, and people might see you for the sick fuck that you truly are.
"Police are not releasing any specifics at this time." continued Herrera. "Miami Metro's Captain Maria LaGuerta declined to comment when asked if this could be the work of an alleged serial killer, dubbed the 'Cuisinart Killer' due to the brutal mutilation of the victims found."
I began changing channels.
I despised the name the media gave me. "Cuisinart Killer", how fucking unoriginal and Martha Stewart! They might as well have said I'm the bastard son of Julia Childs, the very one responsible for the birth of that conga-line of shit machines that serve as household appliances! It's truly a sad day and age when I'm not even named after a reliable product line.
Black and Decker, the Black and Decker Demon, now that's a name I could really sink my teeth into. Of every savory dish I've ever tasted, whether prepared by the help, or by some doe-eyed woman who thinks I'm going to marry her, Black and Decker has never let me down in any way. Anyone who's even scratched the surface of the brand's history knows Black and Decker has been here longer, and stood all tests of time, which Cuisinart has yet to face. Plus, the gender identity implications to boot! Black and Decker started with a drill, not some hand-mixer any bimbo could operate. Even in this sordid century, where the men are women and the women are men, Black and Decker stands as the last bastion of manhood for any man forced into the kitchen.
Cuisinart, the nerve! Not only an attack on my manhood, but a shitty product line at that! I wish I could revive the name they gave me back in New York; the Roosevelt Avenue Ripper! They may not have known me personally, but they knew of me, and knew I was to be respected! Death, and one of the manliest US Presidents alive, wrapped up in a terrifying package. Who could ask for anything more?
"Enough bad news for one day." I said, speaking in Antonia's direction "No más malas noticias, am I right?"
"Claro que sí, Señor Patrick!" replied Antonia, who had apparently been watching the newscast over my shoulder, and she made the sign of the cross. "¡Ay Dios mío!"
Again, I had to suppress a laugh. I always got a kick out of how naively religious these people were. A quick motion of the hands, flash of the beads, and all of the sudden the big bad killers and drug dealers go away. No wonder we were top of the food chain and not them.
As I enjoyed the various programming, Antonia brought in the telephone for me, which was Nina, who pushed my scheduled clients back towards the late afternoon, first appointment at 2:45pm asking if I would be in. I gave her an affirmative answer, which gave me about an hour and a half before I had to be ready.
She also informed me that Derek, the Blood Spatter Analyst from Miami Metro, had scheduled an appointment with me tomorrow. I was truly looking forward to that, maybe pick his brain about his work, if not see it firsthand like he promised, now or in the future.
About that time, the doorbell rang. I stopped Antonia from answering, as I anticipated this arrival for quite some time. I opened the door, and a Cuban courier, with a large box with holes in the side, greeted me with a smile.
"Meester…Bait-mans?" asked the courier. "Patrick Bait-mans?"
"Patrick Bateman, yes." I replied. "You have what I requested? Específicamente?"
"Oh sí, yes yes Mister Bait-mans." replied the brainless Spic. "Conejo…very, very big, like you específicamente."
"Muchas gracias." I said, signing the courier form, and taking the box.
I'd always hated animals, and adopted a pure Descartesan attitude when it came to them, for the most part; they were stupid, they had no feelings, any resemblance of pain or suffering was a programmed response, and we as humans could do with them what we like.
Yet, my faith was shaken, when I met my new best friend, Bundy.
Fernando called me out to the landscaping area one day, complaining of a "lagarto" in the hedges. I came out, and that's when I saw him; a large tegu, fighting for supremacy in his kingdom of hedges.
Before I could even raise my foot to crush his skull, the creature lunged at me without a single fear in the world. Most animals I've killed, dogs and cats mostly, become ferocious out of fear, but not Bundy. He was letting me know, he was king of these hedges, and I had to go through him; the first time an animal has shown aggression towards me out of sure challenge than fear. I couldn't help but respect that.
Wrapping him up in a burlap bag later, I brought him into my home, despite Fernando's warning of how dangerous and environmentally harmful he was for Florida. With a bit of research from a pet shop, the tegu had the best setup money could buy; heat, shelter, food, he wanted for nothing. The fun began when I fed him a large rat, which he thanked me for by putting on a gruesome display of ripping and thrashing as he dug into his prey. With ferocity like that, I named him after one of my most admired, and brutal, serial killers.
Today, Bundy was in for a special treat. After hearing repeated reports of tegus appearing in certain areas, followed by people's dogs and cats disappearing, I decided to test Bundy's abilities. Over the internet, I ordered a New Zealand/Flemish Giant hybrid, a whole hell of a lot of rabbit.
I opened Bundy's enclosure, to which he greeted me with a territorial hiss.
"Hello friend." I told him. "How about a feast?"
I opened the crate the rabbit came in, and had to dump the rabbit out onto the floor of Bundy's enclosure, as the fucking thing refused to leave the safety of its crate. As if it knew the danger it was in, it made a soft growl/honk noise, as Bundy approached, tongue flickering. Having tasted the air, and deciding what it was. Bundy made his move.
A quick strike, and the rabbit shrieked, pulling away, which only resulted in Bundy ripping a great deal of skin and hair from its body. The rabbit scampered and scrambled to find a way out, but Bundy ran and lunged again, this time grabbing an ear, resulting in the rabbit running and resisting again, and the ear being ripped off. Having never encountered a rabbit before, I could see why Bundy was still finding his bearings. Finally, with a decisive lunge, Bundy latched on to the rabbit's skull, and held fast, as the rabbit writhed and squirmed, eventually breaking its neck due to its struggling and Bundy's iron grip. His prey finally vanquished, Bundy began to tear into the rabbit, and strip away flesh.
What a majestic way to start my work afternoon!
