Double Jack by Gene O'Neill

Author:Gene O'Neill [O'Neill, Gene]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Crime, Fiction, Murder, Mystery & Detective, Suspense, Thriller
ISBN: 9780998827575
Publisher: Dark Moon Books
Published: 2017-09-30T11:00:00+00:00

MARY LOU DUDDY

* * *

Crime Scene Notes

Name: Mary Lou Duddy

Ethnicity/Gender: Caucasian Female

Age: 43 years old

Family: Widowed, no children

Occupation: Owner of an import children’s shop on the K-Street Mall: The Dolly Lama

Trauma: Sexually Assaulted, One Rib Cracked, Strangled, Hyoid Bone Broken

* * *

1

Tuesday morning, Jack was stretched out on his raggedy, sagging couch in his apartment in the complex on El Camino Avenue in North Sacramento, drinking a Miller Lite, the noon TV news winding down. They hadn’t really said much about his latest prey. Only her name—Mary Lou Duddy—a little about her business downtown, not much else. Except they’d mentioned that authorities were indeed looking for a “serial killer” now—the three recent freeway killings linked. He smiled wryly at that. Actually he saw himself as a predator, the freeways his savannah hunting ground. He was only satisfying a natural innate need. He required prey to feed his sexual appetite and frequently. And all hunters were “serial killers,” for Christ sake, he thought.

Damn old broad from last night hadn’t put up much of a fight though. Uh-uh. The rougher the kill, the more Jack enjoyed it now. This one probably figured if she’d just cooperated, he’d’ve let her go.

“Well, that ain’t never going to happen anymore, I bet you on that,” Jack said emphatically aloud to himself. No witnesses.

He sat up, crushing the drained can, and frowned.

His painting business was going slow, and Jack hadn’t worked on a job in five days. Neither of his last two bids even getting back to him—the customers maybe a little concerned about his weight. They both had looked at him kinda funny when he personally handed them the bids.

Hell, he may look a little sloppy now, but he didn’t have much trouble scrambling up and down the ladders and scaffolding, he’d guarantee you on that. Man, going on five days. Too much time on his hands. Maybe he’d give Walter John a call. Sometimes they worked together, when either painter needed help. Yeah, he’d call ole Walt later.

A knock at the door.

Oh, no, Jack thought, figuring it had to be the old broad from next door, Sandy.

Sandy was tall, thin, and, man—like the old R & B singer, Bo Diddley, said—She looked like she’d been whipped wif an ugly stick, Big Time.

Actually, she was pretty good to Jack, regularly inviting him over to dinner, bringing healthy treats when she made them, and sharing books. She liked true crime stuff, too. In fact, she was the one who explained the technical difference between a mass murderer and a serial killer to him just last week, giving him a Time-Life book on all the major serial killers in the last few years. Very fascinating stuff.

But she was always getting too close, invading his space, flirting, trying to entice Jack into staying over again. He’d tried a couple of times after he’d had a few too many beers, but Sandy was into “gentle, loving sex,” and didn’t go for any rough stuff—not even an ass slap or two.

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