As disposable as they were, sometimes he enjoyed interacting with his victims. Especially the ones as wealthy as they were stupid.
For one, he liked getting close to them in their time of need, finding out when they would be at their most vulnerable. But really, he did enjoy seeing the look of betrayal in their eyes when their time together would come to an end.
If he liked them enough—or if they behaved— he might leave their features intact for the funeral. He was sure they were grateful for that. But most of the time, he couldn't help himself.
The perky little waitress was staring at him again. He swished the half-empty glass of wine for a moment before resting it in front of him. She'd suffered long enough. She came bouncing over and refilled almost instantly.
His eyes ran up and down her body, causing goosebumps to prickle on her skin. When she was done he shot her a smile, exposing his white teeth and she grinned back.
"Thank you...Rachel."
"You're welcome, Mr Taylor," she blushed, bumping her hand against his before scampering off.
He looked down and smirked. Poor sweet, simple-minded Rachel just as he thought.
He waited until she glanced back and made a show of tucking the love note into his breast pocket. Maybe if he wasn't at work he might have practiced on her. He made sure to give her a little wink and watched as she practically wet herself in her uniform.
No, another time then.
Late evening in this Bistro was a boisterous affair. People were talking loudly all around him, and the scent of meat hung heavy in the air. The food, as well as the music, was fine but ultimately distracted him. Partially obscured, he squinted slightly in search of smooth jet locks clad in even darker furs that was to be his victim for this month.
Morticia Addams sat as regally as he expected, and her skin seemed to almost glow in the dim lighting. Her face was a maze of sharp lines and angles on top, offset by the delicate curve of her soft, inviting lips. He was sure she smelled of Eucalyptus and Pine. With her sat her husband, Gomez, along with the brother, Fester, and that nanny of theirs.
He'd never come across an attractive witch before and nearly hung up on his latest client, expecting to have to charm some hag. Not that he hated witches, of course. He had to make that distinction clear to one of his previous victims. But either way—ugly or not—he couldn't resist the opportunity when his client mentioned the name, Addams. The family of freaks and monsters alike? He'd be a fool to deny the job.
It was almost a shame his client requested such a gruesome end for her. Maybe he could make the damage internal? Although that was never quite as fun.
He'd have to make their time together worth it for sure.
In his musings, he almost missed his new little pet walking to the dancefloor with her husband. On the outside he played the excited spectator well, even making sure to do the standard gasp in surprise when they began doing theatrics for the crowd. But from the moment Mrs Addams spun across the room, lighting a literal trail of fire in her wake, he knew his time with her had to be much more than just worth it.
He'd have to plan something special for this one. Something that would satisfy both his client, as well as his own desires.
The tiny bistro broke out into rancorous applause when the couple did their grand finale. For his part, Mr Addams did his best to keep the crowd engaged. And as tedious as this charade had become by now, he did notice that under the thick veil of humility, the self-satisfied smile playing across his little pet's lips told a different story.
It made him almost kind of giddy at this new revelation. The two couples eventually slipped out the doors and he quietly followed after a minute.
So she liked the attention? Perhaps he'll make her famous in her demise.
Gods he hated Opera. Did it really have to be Opera? He hung back, blending in with the overly wealthy and overly gaudy as the Addams couple got swallowed up by the steely walls of the Jersey Opera House.
At least he was appropriately dressed.
In the 20 minutes that he was forced to wait outside as the main lobby drained, he'd managed to befriend three particularly chatty old biddies. They were as desperate as can be and felt the need to flaunt their dead husband's wealth on tasteless clothes and cheap wigs. So when most of the guests went inside and the ushers made themselves scarce, he slunk into the building and into the red doors of the main auditorium.
The room was lush and grand and everything to be expected. It was also half empty. His eyes swept across the prunes and centenarians before aligning on her lovely face. They were sitting in a tiny little box on the third floor, so he found a little alcove on the second floor. It was curved in such a way that he had as good a view in their box from the left as he did of the stage.
"Oh, Mr Graham! Good to see you again."
His back stiffened, wondering how those patsy's managed to find him. Still, he smiled and greeted the old women pleasantly regardless.
"You have the most beautiful hazel eyes," one of them, Annice, he thinks, warbled.
'They're green.'
"Thank you, ma'am," he smiled.
The lights began to dim so he settled himself into his seat, preparing to deal with two hours of noise.
The music, as well as the people, threatened to bore him to death. And his headache was intensifying because that fat woman would not stop her shrill singing.
He took periodic glances at his target to find that she and her husband were actually enjoying this?
However, just as he was contemplating leaving his eyes aligned on something interesting.
The light from the stage seemed to shine directly into the Addams box, and through the translucent screen, Gomez Addams' hand drifted from the railing to make circles in his wife's lap.
Finally, something interesting.
He turned his head back when Mr Addams began discreetly looking around for voyeurs. After a minute, he glanced back and had to hold in a groan at the sight.
She'd shifted closer this time, he could tell. Red-tinted nails glided across her husband's trousers as he slid her dress up her thighs. Her legs were as fair as fallen snow. He made sure to keep his movements still, though his fingers itched to drag across her skin, leaving trails of blossom in its wake. He wondered how they would feel across him. Would they be as supple up close or already marked by her husband's hand?
Her fingers dragged across her husband's lap as she spread her own legs wider in her seat. He had to look back then, taking a breath. Taking a glance around, he wasn't even surprised to see everyone around him still engrossed in the show. He wondered if the fat woman on stage could see them.
'That'd give her something to scream about.'
After another moment he glanced back as the lights got dimmer. He couldn't see the color of her panties, but he imagined they were silky and red like her lips. Or even black. Yes, black was a better contrast for her. Mr Addams drew small circles around her middle, and she took it all, exposing her milky neck for him. He let his body heat up slightly, releasing a quiet breath as he imagined if those were his fingers instead. If it were him, he'd increase his pace, driving her to the edge over and over until she teared up. Then he'd stuff her panties in her mouth—they would be red this time—to keep her quiet while he finished her off. If she was good and quiet, he'd even give her a taste.
He could tell she was a tease with the way her nails kept running across her husband's lap. He'd have none of that if it were him. He'd have her under those translucent walls pleasuring him instead. He'd make sure she was an expert at it. Then he'd make her lick every last drop.
Forcing himself to turn away, he stored that memory for later before glancing back. Mr Addams pulled her onto his lap. He wondered how her weight would feel against his as she spread her gorgeous legs wider for him and her husband like a whore. Mr Addams continued his movements while she buried her face into his neck. But if it were him, he'd have her lips against his instead to swallow her groans. He wondered what she would sound like. How different would her screams of pleasure be from her groans of pain.
Her lips, he was sure, were a bright shade of pink, but he liked the red much better. He licked his own dry lips and wondered how her lipstick would look when he had her wrapped around him. How silky her hair would feel in his grip as he forced himself deeper into her willing mouth.
He kept his eyes on them in their little world and had to stop his fingers from drifting to his belt. He imagined whipping her ass until it bled as punishment for allowing this public display. Her husband was being too generous with her right now. There were so many things he would do to her body if he were in that position.
Finally, Mr Addams pulled her decolletage apart with his free fingers.
She wasn't even wearing a bra.
"Fuck," he whispered. He took a glance around to make sure no one had heard him. The old broads around him were still enjoying their show.
Her breasts were full and soft from what he could see. He couldn't tell what color her nipples were, but he imagined they were brown and puffy, just as he liked.
Her husband's fingers must have moved faster because she jolted forward before settling herself back into his chest, rolling her hips softly to the movement. It was nearly too much for him. And he gritted his teeth as his mind assaulted him with the lewdest of images of them together. On the box floor, in his car, in his workshop, coated in sweat. Her husband let her take his fingers between her teeth, but he would have slapped her until her cheeks turned bright red for the offense.
The fat woman on stage went into her grand finale. The lights burst into color on stage and his body went cold when some of it reflected on her face right as her eyes rolled back and her body shuddered.
He would keep this one for a bit. He'd keep her for as long as he pleased.
He just needed to get rid of her husband soon.
"I only have a 30-minute window of opportunity."
He repeated this mantra to himself for the next hour until the show was over. And if this plan didn't work, then he'd blame it on only having an hour to plan.
He glanced at his watch when the curtains finally closed to applause. 7:00. He had until 7:30 to pull this off effortlessly.
He took a glance back and waited for the Addams couple to leave their seats before turning to the three gossiping old hens.
"Would you ladies like a drink?"
His smile grew wider when they swooned.
The layout for this building was awful enough, but to plan a murder-frame up while avoiding the cameras would be near impossible.
He didn't want to, but he'd have to move the crime outside instead.
He picked Annice to be his sacrificial lamb. It wasn't anything personal, he just disliked her the most. Not to mention it just fit.
"Why don't you wait outside for me between Pike and 4th street?" He whispered in her ear as they left the auditorium. "Don't tell the girls. They might get jealous," he added with a wink.
She smiled and nodded mischievously before making a beeline for the front doors. Dumb bitch.
He'd already sent the other one to retrieve his coat from the cloakroom, but getting the thin-haired spinster to keep Gomez Addams distracted at the bar was surprisingly the easiest part. One story about Addams owing him money and she was on her way.
Now, what was the hottest drink he could afford to have spilled on himself without injury?
"-Oh, and why don't you order him a glass of spiced wine too? It keeps him calm, so your job will be easier."
Maybe he should have had her as the sacrificial lamb. Oh well. It was 7:06, he just needed his scapegoat for this evening.
He found his old client right where he'd hoped. The old bastard wasn't even pretending to work, already a quarter into a bottle of rum in an isolated corner.
"Mr Oliver. Hello," he smiled, towering over the old man. "Funny seeing you here."
He put up his hand, silencing the older man. "Just take me to the back. And make sure there aren't any cameras."
"Sir please," begged Oliver, "I've done my due, and I've conquered my demons. Please just let me go!"
The room was much smaller than he expected, barely a closet. But he wouldn't complain if this was the only room in the whole building without security. He took a glance at his watch. 7:12.
He waved a hand dismissively. "Yes yes I'm sure, just give me your uniform."
"My-"
"Yes, your uniform. We don't want those highly disturbing videos leaked to the public after all."
Mr Oliver's eyes went wide, and he swiftly stripped down. Stained underwear, flabby loose skin, and silver hair all over. He gave the man a disapproving glance over. Thank God he'd probably be dead before he reached that age.
"I can't believe you, Mr Oliver," he scathed, "The things you made me do to those women for you. It keeps me up at night, you know."
"I-I'm sorry," he mumbled.
"Are you sure the exit's unwired?" He asked after changing.
"Y-Yes, but what are you doing exactly, Mr Nelson?"
Oh, he hadn't heard that name in a while.
"Nothing as bad as what you did to that blonde woman. Remember that?"
Silence. Just as he wanted.
"Stay in here. I'll only be gone 5 minutes. And hand me that bottle would you?"
Although he was forced to walk to avoid sweating, he found her exactly where he'd put her. It was dark and lonely enough, almost romantic, so he'd forgive her for assuming they were about to have sex. The uniform smelled foul, but she didn't complain when he pulled her into a hug.
She buried her head into the stained material and he felt her heartbeat speed up in anticipation. He hoped she wouldn't have a heart attack and ruin his plan.
When he felt like enough of Mr Oliver's DNA was on her, he pulled away and whispered, "Turn around darling, I have something to give you."
Her smile turned watery and her eyes glinted in the moonlight, "Okay," she breathed, "I'm ready."
Those were her last words before he brought the broad side of the rum bottle across the back of her head. It shattered on impact and she dropped to the ground. Judging by the sizable bit of blood pooling on the ground and her age, she was probably dead, but he went ahead and slit her throat for good measure.
He dragged her over behind the dumpster, making sure to get a good bit of blood on the uniform. He quickly tore off the outfit, making sure no DNA got on his suit before swiping her earrings with a napkin and waking back.
"Go with God my friend," he said, hugging the old man. It wasn't that he hated Mr Oliver. He was one of his more enjoyable clients, actually. If not a little skittish. But he was not about to be charged for murder without finishing up the Addams case.
He pulled away and clapped the man on the back, making sure the earrings were securely clipped into the man's underwear and made his way out.
"Wait Mr Nelson, my clothes?"
"Where the trash normally is," he replied casually as the older man cursed and stumbled out into the cold for his uniform.
7:20. He was impressed with himself. He took a glance to make sure Mr Addams was still at the bar before making his way to the cloakroom.
Not even 5 seconds later and the other lady, he could never remember her name, spotted him and made her way over.
"Mr Graham. Have you seen Annice?"
He pretended to think about it for a few seconds. "Yes, actually. I thought I saw her slip out of the back door a few minutes ago. I'm not sure where, though."
Confusion washed across her face. "Really? But she would never just leave without telling us?"
He shrugged. "Maybe she was in a hurry?"
"No, that's not like her."
"Should I call security?"
"No, I'll go look for her. I'm sure she's out mingling or something," she chuckled
"Good call. I'll tell Sheryl what's happening and meet you."
She nodded and left.
He took his time walking back to the bar, grabbing a quick drink and positioning himself away from Addams and his guest, and waited.
Like a symphony, a scream sounded in the distance, alerting everyone in the bar. Someone came running screaming about a murder outside, sending the room into a frenzy. Quickly, he maneuvered himself in front of Addams and launched himself as if he were pushed and braced for the steamy wine to burn his chest.
He didn't even give Gomez time to react before he ran to the restrooms, cursing when he realized the stalls were still occupied. Gomez followed as he expected, but it was useless trying to kill him here anymore.
"I'm sorry for the spill," Gomez said sincerely.
"Don't mention it," he said, feigning pain from the steamy drink. "Accidents happen, right?"
"Yes. Well, how about I buy you another drink, Mr…"
"Ah, where are my manners!" he chuckled and extended his hand, "Julian Hansen. And you?"
"Gomez Addams," he replied, giving him a firm handshake. "It seems there's been an accident outside so I'm sure the bar will be closing. But another time, yes? When are you free next?"
"Tomorrow? I know a bar downtown we could go to called Mistrals."
Gomez smiled, "Oh yes I know that one! Shall we say 7 pm?"
"Of course, Mr Addams."