Planters Punch by Konrath Ja (Aka J Kilborn)

Author:Konrath, Ja (Aka J Kilborn) [Ja, Konrath,]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-03-25T19:13:51+00:00

PROLOGUE:

:.

- 1989, June 23.

This guy isn't a killer, Dalton thinks. He's a butcher..

Dalton isn't repulsed by the spectacle, or even slightly disturbed. He stays detached and professional, even as he snaps a picture of Brotsky tearing at the prostitute's body with some kind of three-pronged garden tool..

There's a lot of blood..

Dalton wonders if he should have brought color film. But there's something classic,. something pure, about shooting in black and white. It makes real life even more realistic..

Dalton opens the f-stop on the lens, adjusting for the setting sun. He's standing in the backyard of Brotsky's house, and his subject has been gracious enough to leave the blinds open. From his spot on the lawn, Dalton has a clear view into Brotsky's living room, where the carnage is taking place. Though Brotsky has a high fence and plenty of foliage on his property, he's still taking a big risk. There are neighbors on either side, and the back gate leading to the alley is unlocked. Anyone could walk by..

It's not a smart way to conduct a murder..

Dalton has watched Brotsky kill two hookers in this fashion, and surely there have been others. Yet the Chicago Police Department hasn't come knocking on Brotsky's door yet. Brotsky has been incredibly lucky so far..

But luck runs out..

At least Brotsky has the sense to put a tarp down, Dalton thinks..

He snaps another photo. Brotsky's naked barrel chest is slick with gore, and the look on his unshaven face is somewhere between frenzy and ecstasy as he works the garden tool. He's not a tall man, but he's thick, with big muscles under a layer of hard fat. Brotsky sweats a lot, and his bald head gives off a glare which Dalton offsets by using a filter on his lens..

Brotsky sets down the garden tool, and picks up a cleaver..

Yeah, this guy is nuts..

Truth told, Dalton has done worse to people, at least as far as suffering goes. If the price is right, Dalton will drag someone's death out for hours, or even days. But Dalton gets no pleasure from the task. Killing is simply his business..

Brotsky is killing to meet baser needs. Sex. Power. Blood lust. Hunger, Dalton muses, taking a shot of Brotsky with his mouth full of something moist..

If Brotsky sticks to his MO, he'll dismember the girl, wrap up her parts in plastic bags, and then take her severed head into the shower with him. When Brotsky returns, he'll be squeaky clean, and the head will be gone. Then he'll load the bags into his car and haul them to the dump site..

Dalton guesses it will be another eleven minutes. He waits patiently, taking occasional snapshots, musing about what Brotsky does with the heads. Dalton isn't bothered by the heat or the humidity, even though it's close to ninety degrees and he's wearing a suit and tie. Unlike Brotsky, Dalton doesn't sweat. Dalton has pores. He just never feels the need to use them..

Exactly eleven minutes and nine seconds later, Brotsky walks out his back door, dressed in shorts, sandals, and a wrinkled blue Hawaiian shirt.

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