His eyes scanned the dark club, seeking out his next target. It was so easy, almost laughably so, especially in a place like this. All he had to do was flash his killer smile, use his easy charm, offer to buy a drink.
Degenerates, all of them. It was his mission to take them down, one by one. It was God's will. God disapproved of such behavior. Man shall not lie down with man, this was the law.
He spotted a young man sitting at the bar alone. Perfect target. No one would miss this one.
"Hello." He smiled, sliding on to the barstool.
The young man tried to seem disinterested, but he knew better. He knew how these men were. All he had to do was show him a little attention and he'd be all over him. Not that he wanted that, oh no. Not for pleasure, certainly, though he derived a certain sense of satisfaction once his mission was completed.
He reached out and traced along the back of the young man's hand with one finger. "Don't be shy. Let me buy you a drink."
The young man pulled away with a scowl, picking up his drink and sliding down from his barstool, calling out a group of men who had just come in, showering them with hugs and kisses before the group moved toward the dance floor.
Strike one. Ah well, he would bide his time. He knew as the evening wore on, inhibitions would lower, and his chances of finding a suitable target would increase. He would simply sit at the bar and wait.
He watched from his barstool as men seemed to cycle on and off the dance floor, sometimes in pairs, sometimes in groups, always with their hands all over each other.
Filth. Degenerative filth. Filth that had to be wiped out at any cost.
Someone plopped down on a barstool near him with a huff. "Hey, how's it going?"
"Busy." The bartender laughed. "What can I get you?"
"Oh, you know, the usual." The other man answered casually.
He took him in. Young, like so many of them here. Dark, shaggy hair that looked like it hadn't seen a comb in a while, lean and lanky, his long fingers drumming the bar in time to the music. He smiled ever so slightly and nodded when the bartender set a napkin and a bottle of beer in front of him. "Thanks. Start a tab for me?"
"Of course." The bartender replied. "Gage, right?"
"Right."
"You've got it."
He watched this Gage fellow take a long drink before turning around and leaning against the bar, seeming to observe the crowd, clearly looking for someone.
He could hardly believe it. A perfect target had nearly landed in his lap. All he had to do was move down and—
"Sam!" Gage called out, waving one hand.
The man Gage had called out to found him, greeting him with a slight smile and a nod before sitting down on the barstool next to him, and they were soon huddled in conversation, Gage's hand lightly grazing up the other man's back.
He huffed irritably to himself, sliding down from the barstool to make his way out to the dance floor, blending in with the mass of sweaty bodies. Vile, but necessary. He had to find his target, and quickly.
It wasn't long before he found what he was looking for. Young, slender, delicate, moving with the grace and ease of a girl. Yes, he would do.
He moved in closer, tensing up as he laid a hand on the young man's waist, drawing in close. The young man was startled at first before relaxing with a smile, a hand sliding to his back. "Hello there."
"Hello." He could feel his own breathing grow shorter as the young man pressed against him, desperately hoping his own body wouldn't betray him this time. "You here alone?"
"Mm-hmm." The young man answered casually. "Usually not for long. Kinda slim pickings tonight."
"I'm offended." He teased the young man.
The young man scoffed, his hand sliding downward. "How about now?"
He inhaled sharply at the move. "Mmm…less so."
This was the tricky part, gauging just how much time and attention to spend on his target before reeling him in. He suspected this one wouldn't take long. As it was, he practically had him eating out of the palm of his hand.
Oh yes, this one would be easy.
One song bled into another, and he couldn't tell them apart. He was losing focus, finding himself drawn into the music and the crowd and the feeling of the young man that had all but become a part of him.
It was time.
"Do you want to get out of here?" He whispered in the young man's ear.
"Thought you'd never ask."
"I'll leave first. Count to ten, then follow." He told him. "I'll meet you outside."
The young man nodded, and he managed to peel himself away long enough to get outside. He glanced at the bar, where Gage and that other man were deep in conversation.
Next time. Next time for sure. In the meantime, his next target awaited him.
He stepped outside and lit a cigarette while he waited. A filthy habit, he knew that. Someday, when his mission was complete, he'd quit. After all, he was no hypocrite.
"Hi." The young man was suddenly beside him. "Ready?"
He took one last drag off the cigarette before he tossed it to the ground and crushed it with his foot. "Whenever you are. You have somewhere in mind?"
The young man looked thoughtful for a moment. "Got a place not far from here. Just a few blocks away if you don't mind the walk."
"Lead the way."
The young man kept up a steady stream of chatter the whole way, but he barely heard him. He was too busy formulating his plan.
"Here we are." The young man unlocked the door. "It's not much, but it's cheap and close to school."
He scanned the space. The place was a dump. There was no other way to describe it. But he wasn't here to check out the décor. He had far more important business at hand. "You don't have to explain yourself. You're a college student, huh?"
"Law school at UCLA." The young man replied. "Just needed to get out and blow off some steam, you know?"
"I know exactly what you mean." He replied smoothly, closing the door behind him. "Feel the need to blow off some steam myself."
The young man immediately tugged at his shirt, his hands moving underneath. "You know, I don't think I got your name."
"Not important." He answered roughly, already disgusted with himself for reacting to his touch. The sooner he got this done and over with the better.
The young man leaned in to kiss him, and he pulled back. "Uh-uh. None of that."
He looked confused. "Okay, if you say so. What are you up for?"
He started to undo the buttons on the young man's shirt, letting his hand smooth over his chest before sliding upward to lightly grasp his throat. "You ever been choked out?"
The young man looked startled before his expression changed to a little grin. "Oh, you're one of those."
He froze. "One of what?"
"You know, kinky." The young man answered casually. "If you like it, I love it. Whatever gets you off."
"Good." He murmured. "That's good. Why don't you show me to your bedroom?"
The young man pulled away, that infernal grin never leaving his face. "Follow me."
As soon as they entered, he pushed the young man toward the bed, and he stumbled slightly as he backed up, trying to keep his balance. One more push and he landed on his back.
He was right where he wanted him. Perfect.
"You're kind of rough." It was hard to miss the lust in the young man's expression.
"Too much?"
"No way." He shook his head. "You can get rougher if you want. I like it."
He straddled the young man, his hands sliding up his chest and up his throat, stroking his jaw with his thumbs, letting the anticipation build as he let his thumbs slide down to find the pressure points on either side of his throat.
It was a glorious feeling when a plan came together. This young man, this degenerate, was completely at his mercy. He held his life in his hands, and he didn't realize it. Soon it would be too late.
But not yet. He gently pressed, watching as the young man's eyes went wide and his breath grew short. Just as his eyelids fluttered, he let up, letting him inhale deeply and exhale. "Wow, that's a real rush."
"You like that?"
"Oh yeah." The young man nodded.
"You want me to do it again?"
"Yeah."
He pressed down firmly. "Ah, ah. Manners. Yes, please."
The young man's eyelids fluttered closed again. "Yes, please."
Oh, he loved it when they begged for it. Perverts, all of them. Disgusting, nasty perverts.
He squeezed a little harder this time, a little longer before releasing again. The young man gasped, his confusion and lust obvious in his expression. "Goddamn, man. You're turning me on."
"Don't take the Lord's name in vain." He hissed, his hand now curving around the young man's throat. "You were born a sinner, and now you'll die a sinner."
"Wait." The young man's expression turned to pure fear. "This is part of the game, right?"
"No, the game's over." He replied, his anger taking hold of him as he started squeezing.
"No, no." Panic took over the young man's face now. "Please, let me up. Please."
He simply kept squeezing, squeezing, squeezing as the young man struggled and gasped beneath him. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he stopped struggling and went limp, his expression utterly lifeless.
There was no pulse, no respiration, no sign of life. Good. Another degenerate off the streets. His work here was done.
He tidied himself up and slipped out of the apartment, walking the few blocks back to his car, whistling to himself. Just as before, he'd gone unnoticed.
One day, he'd rid this city of all this filth. One day.
# # #
Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes as he took another sip from the coffee cup, wincing when he realized it had gone cold. Just as well, he needed a reason to tear himself away from the electron microscope. He wasn't able to make anything out at this point anyway.
He poured himself a fresh cup and started a new pot. Quincy would be in any moment and would already be loaded for bear. A fresh pot of coffee might mellow him somewhat.
Good grief, he was really getting too old for such late nights. But Johnny, as usual, had worked his charm on him, making it nearly impossible to turn him down. He was a nice kid, casual and easygoing, good-looking and unbelievably good in bed. But he never shut up. It was the one quality that put Sam off.
Well, not that much, apparently. It seemed that every time they ran into each other, they wound up in bed together, and he ended up losing a night's sleep.
There was an easy solution to all of this, of course. He could just stay home instead of hitting the bars in search of companionship. Or he could just find a nice girl and get married. But that would mean living a lie, and Sam had already been doing that most of his life.
"Sam!" The door to the lab banged open, and Quincy strode in with a file folder in his hand.
"Morning, Quince." Sam answered calmly. "Got that tissue sample under the microscope. I was just getting ready to analyze it."
Quincy waved his hand dismissively. "Got something more important. Another one of those strangulation cases came in last night."
Something clutched inside Sam at that. Rumors had been flying for months around the bar scene, but nothing confirmed. "Sounds pretty cut and dried. Why do you need me?"
Quincy let out an exasperated sound. "Will you just come on?"
Sam finished off his coffee and followed Quincy into the autopsy room. The body of a young man was laid out on the table, the tell-tale bruising obvious against his pale skin. His stomach turned at the sight.
"God, he's just a kid." Quincy's words echoed Sam's thoughts. "Roommate came home after his night shift and found him. Figure he'd been dead for a few hours by then. Said he was a law student at UCLA. What a waste."
Sam moved in closer to examine the marks. "The bruising is consistent with the last two strangulation cases that came in."
"Sure is." Quincy agreed. "Kid lived in West Hollywood, not too far from…well, bars that cater to… a certain clientele."
If the situation hadn't been so grim, Sam would have been amused at Quincy's discomfort. As it was, he wasn't sure Quincy was aware that Sam was part of that clientele, and he certainly wasn't going to mention it. No sense causing problems where there weren't any.
Still, there was something about all these cases that gave him pause.
"You don't suppose they're connected, do you?" Quincy asked as he continued the autopsy.
"Three strangulations, all the bruising is consistent, manner of death is consistent." Sam answered carefully. "I suppose it's possible."
Quincy grumbled something Sam couldn't quite make out as they worked together to prepare the organs for examination. Sam was already reasonably certain he'd find signs of asphyxiation, just as in the other two cases.
"Sam, you get right on this and report back, will ya?" Quincy asked him. "You know Asten's gonna be breathing down our necks otherwise."
"He'll breathe down your neck, Quince." Sam responded, hoping he sounded somewhat casual.
"Yeah, and then I'll breathe down yours." Quincy shot back. "Now, I'm gonna go see Monahan. I've got a feeling about this one."
So did Sam, and not a good feeling. Not a good feeling at all.
He spent the rest of the day working through his case load. There were tests running that wouldn't be ready until the next day, and in the meantime, he had reports on his tissue samples to write up.
As he poured another cup of coffee and sat at his desk to start the reports, he heard voices raised just outside the lab. No surprise, Asten and Quincy were arguing again.
"You've done all you need to do on this, Quincy." Asten was patiently telling Quincy as they brought their argument into the lab.
"I'm telling you, there's a connection!" Quincy replied fiercely. "Sam, tell him what we found."
"I know what you found." Asten replied in an exasperated tone. "I can read."
"Then you know why we need to figure out this connection, and fast."
"That's not our job, you know that!" Asten shot back. "Leave the police work to the police."
Asten left the lab, the door swinging closed behind him, and Quincy muttered something before waving a hand at the door. "Sam, call it a day. You look beat."
"Still got these reports to finish." Sam replied.
"They'll keep." Quincy told him. "Go home."
"I will." Sam responded.
Quincy let out a short laugh. "Sure, you will. Have a good one when you go."
"Hot date tonight?"
"You know it." Quincy answered with a smirk. "What about you? Never hear you talk about a woman in your life."
"Just haven't met the right one." The lie slipped out with surprising ease.
"You should get on that." Quincy told him. "You're not getting any younger, you know."
Sam couldn't help letting out a soft chuckle at that. "You're one to talk."
Quincy looked as if he were going to respond, but seemed to change his mind, merely shaking his head. "Good night, Sam."
"Good night, Quince."
Sam finished the remainder of his reports and rose from his seat, biting back a groan. Tonight would be a good night to go straight home and take a hot bath before getting a good night's sleep. It wouldn't make up for his indiscretions from the night before, but at least he wouldn't add to them.
He vaguely wondered how Johnny was faring after their night together. After all, his job was far more physical than Sam's, and as a firefighter, he worked a twenty-four-hour shift.
Ah, who was he kidding? Johnny was probably just fine. He was young and strong and bounced back easily. If Sam had half that man's energy, he could probably conquer the world.
Sam took off his lab coat and hung it up before heading down to Quincy's office to drop off his reports. He spotted a pair of case files on the desk. Case files from the previous two strangulation cases.
A chill went through Sam as he picked up one of the files. It had been a shock, seeing that first young man laid out on the autopsy table. Sam had met him once, maybe twice, had talked to him, even flirted with him a little. But ultimately it had gone nowhere, and they had gone their separate ways.
And now he was dead. Sam couldn't help but wonder what might have been.
He shook off the thought as he set the case file back down on the desk, along with his own reports. There was nothing he could do about the young man now. He just hoped others would avoid the same fate.