The Mad and the Macabre

- 6 -

January 24th. The first night of the first hunt of the year. Charlie put on his nicest shirt--a dark blue, long-sleeved dress shirt that he hadn't worn since his job interview. It was sort of a wasted effort, since he'd be wearing a winter jacket over the shirt, but dressing well might subconsciously cause him to behave in a more charismatic manner.

He looked at himself in the mirror. Not bad.

He took down a bottle of unopened cologne that he'd received from somebody one year for Christmas--he thought it might have been a work gift exchange from somebody who didn't realize that he wasn't participating--and unscrewed the cap. He sniffed it. Awful. However, women liked this sort of thing, so he splashed some on his neck.

Charlie took a piece of folded paper out of his pocket. Couldn't hurt to practice a few more times. He unfolded the paper and tried to sound natural as he read the handwritten words aloud.

"Hey, I know a great little coffee place, maybe a two-minute drive from here. I can't promise you won't get dog hair on you, but I'd be more than happy to drive us there and treat you to a cup."

Maybe he should cut the part about the dog hair. If somebody was genuinely fussy about getting dog hair on their clothes, they might decline his offer based just on that. But he liked the way it sounded--it acknowledged concern that Kutter might have gotten dog hair on the front seat. Maybe he'd use it the first time, and drop it if the comment seemed to be the deciding element in somebody refusing to come with him.

He read it out loud a few more times, making his voice as friendly as possible, then moved on to another prepared line: "He's a handful, but I love him." This was to be used when somebody was cooing over Kutter, and he'd already tested it out a few times. Responses were evenly divided between an amused "I can imagine!" and the mock disbelief of "Nooooo, not this sweetie!" Either way, the line worked.

The story of how he'd found Kutter worked perfectly fine when he told the truth, and he was surprisingly comfortable sharing it, so he didn't write it down. He practiced the "handful" line a few more times, then refolded the paper and put it back in his pocket.

"Okay, time to earn your keep," he told Kutter, fastening the leash to his collar. "If you help me out tonight, I'll give you as many bacon treats as you want." That wasn't entirely true--he wasn't going to rush out to the pet store to buy another bag if the first one ran out, but still, Kutter would be entitled to a hell of a lot of bacon treats.

He'd considered putting Kutter in a doggie sweater, but that seemed too far over the top. He wasn't looking for bimbos, just women more attractive than his usual prey.

He put on his jacket, checked his appearance in the mirror one more time, and then he began his first-ever hunt with a partner.

Normally Charlie was content to hunt within half an hour or so of his home. But since he had a Boston terrier along for the ride, which might make him more memorable to possible witnesses, and was planning to take home a victim more likely to be missed, he decided to play it safe and drove for nearly two hours before pulling into a movie theatre parking lot just after dark. It was one of those enormous multiplex theatres, twenty-four screens, and he figured that a place like this would be busy enough that he could wander around and be relatively anonymous.

"Don't let me down, buddy," he said, scratching the top of Kutter's head. They got out of the car and he walked Kutter toward the theatre.

Kutter was an instant hit. Unfortunately, it wasn't in a way that did Charlie any good.

People made a fuss over the dog, but it was children with their parents, girls with their boyfriends or husbands, and women in small groups. And some guys, too, which did Charlie even less good. Nobody seemed to go to the movies by themselves.

Of course they didn't. Everybody knew that.

Charlie dragged Kutter--who was loving the attention--back to the car after about fifteen minutes. Stupid. How could he pick a movie theatre, of all places? This was why he didn't get to kill beautiful women. This was why he didn't deserve to kill beautiful women. All of this planning, and he still screwed it up. Pathetic.

He felt like hitting something, but it couldn't be Kutter. The dog had done his part. Perfectly. The fault was all Charlie's.

"Stupid," he said out loud. "Pathetic."

Kutter panted happily. He didn't seem to think that Charlie was stupid or pathetic. Charlie put his index finger out and Kutter licked it. He felt a little better.

All right, so he'd made a bad decision and wasted some time. Fifteen minutes was nothing, especially not when he'd driven over two hours to get here. Now was not the time to start doubting himself. "No use crying over spilt milk," he said.

He'd just have to laugh off this minor moment of foolishness and drive someplace else where he was more likely to find a single woman. No problem at all. He'd just drive to the first public parking lot he could find, and then walk Kutter around the area until he was successful.

Charlie found a parking garage less than a mile away. "See?" he told Kutter. "We're back on track." He parked on the third level. Maybe he'd be lucky enough to get out of here quickly and only pay the single-hour rate.

He hadn't even shut off the engine before he wanted to kick himself. He couldn't drive a victim out of a public parking garage! Not only were there security cameras, but the attendant would see him drive out of there with a soon-to-be-missing woman. What in the world was he thinking?

He'd made mistakes before, lots of them, but Charlie couldn't remember ever having been so dense during a hunt. Was Kutter just distracting him? Could he not think clearly with a dog in the passenger seat? This was crazy! Bonkers!

"I'm a creature of habit," he told Kutter. "You're throwing off my game."

The official hunt was over for tonight. Charlie couldn't risk making another stupid mistake. He'd drive around for a while and try to find a suitable location, and then return the next evening. Better to waste a four-hour round trip than get the electric chair, lethal injection, or the gas chamber. There had to be a good place to hunt where there were no security cameras.

When he drove past the dog park, Charlie burst into a fit of giggles so intense that he had to pull off to the side of the road for a few minutes to recover.

* * *

She was perhaps the most beautiful woman Charlie had ever seen. Her dog was ugly as hell.

"What's his name?" she asked, as her bulldog and Kutter exchanged undignified sniffs.

"Kutter," Charlie replied. "With a K." He'd thought of clarifying the "with a K" part during the drive over that afternoon, and was very pleased with himself. It made him sound friendly.

The woman stroked Kutter's fur. "Well, he's a sweetheart."

"Thanks." The woman's bulldog caught sight of another dog and tugged on its leash. Charlie knew he had to act now. "Would you like to get coffee?"

The woman smiled. "I can't, sorry. I don't do caffeine."

"It doesn't have to be coffee. It can be anything."

"I'd love to, but I can't."

"Why not?"

Her smile vanished. "I just can't."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. "I've gotta go," she said, letting her bulldog lead her away.

Charlie made himself shrug. He hadn't done anything incorrectly that time. He'd just try again with somebody else. Nobody, not even movie stars, got a "yes" every single time they asked somebody for a date. He had plenty of time.

* * *

"What's his name?" asked the woman, letting Kutter lick her palm. She was probably in her fifties, but still nice-looking.

"Kutter," Charlie said. "With a K."

"Hi, Kutter. You're a good boy, aren't you?"

Charlie tried not to grimace, Yeah, he talked to Kutter way more than he wanted to admit, but at least he didn't ask idiotic questions like that. What did she think Kutter was going to say? "No, ma'am, I'm not a good boy at all, but I appreciate your vote of confidence."

The woman had a wiener dog. Charlie didn't want to touch it. He knew he had to make some small talk before asking her out.

"What's your dog's name?" he asked.

"Harvey. With an H."

Charlie frowned. What other letter would the name Harvey start with? Did she think he was a moron? She was the one with the hot dog dog, not him.

Then he realized from her smile that she was trying to be amusing by referencing his "with a K" comment. Duh. He shouldn't have needed extra time to figure that out. If she thought he was a moron, she was absolutely right. But if she was joking around with him, then she trusted him, and if she trusted him...

"Do you want to get some coffee?" Charlie asked.

The woman held up her left hand, revealing her wedding ring. "I don't think my husband would like that."

"I didn't mean like that. Just coffee."

"I'm just here to get Harvey some exercise. But I appreciate the offer."

Charlie started to insist that he merely wanted to get coffee as friends, but no, it wasn't a good idea to appear desperate. The last thing he needed was for her to tell the cops that there was a creepy guy harassing women at the dog park.

"No problem."

This wasn't working at all. Apparently only the dregs of society could be convinced to go anywhere with him, even with a Boston terrier in tow. It was time to give up on this idea and return to his old hunting grounds.

No. He had as much right to be here as anybody else, and it wasn't a crime to ask somebody to go out for coffee.

It was definitely a nice park--a lot nicer than the one near his house. Would hanging out here all day without bringing home a victim really be such a wasted day? Kutter seemed to be enjoying it, if nothing else.

There was a circular purple object lying in the snow. A Frisbee. Charlie picked it up, shook off the snow, and let Kutter sniff it. The dog seemed to approve.

Charlie flung the Frisbee, which went in the exact opposite direction that he'd intended and struck a tree that was about four feet away. As soon as the Frisbee hit the ground Kutter had snatched it up in his mouth and brought it back, holding it up expectantly.

Charlie took hold of the Frisbee and tugged gently, but Kutter didn't let it go.

"Give it to me so I can throw it again," he instructed.

He tugged again. Kutter tugged back.

"You're not doing this correctly," Charlie said. He knew next to nothing about dog/human interactions, but he at least knew how to play fetch. How was it possible that he understood the rules better than Kutter?

Charlie let go of the Frisbee. "When you're ready to play right, let me know."

Kutter stared up at him for a moment, then let out a whine.

"Don't whine at me. You have to let it go. Do you want me to throw it with your jaws still stuck on it?"

Charlie grabbed the Frisbee and gently tugged again. Kutter vigorously shook his head side-to-side and refused to relinquish his grip. Charlie tugged a little harder and Kutter tugged back harder.

"You're playing the wrong game," Charlie informed the dog. Tug-of-war was supposed to be with a thick rope, or a sock, or maybe a dead squirrel. Frisbees were for throwing and playing fetch. This dog was totally mixed up.

Charlie released his grip again. This time, Kutter let the Frisbee fall. Charlie picked it up and gave it another fling--right into the same tree. He looked around the park to see if anybody had noticed.

Several people had. They were amused.

Charlie cursed.

Kutter brought back the Frisbee, and after another minute of not letting go of it, dropped it into the snow. Charlie picked it up and walked several feet to the left to distance himself from that stupid tree. He swung his arm back and forth a few times, trying to envision the trajectory the Frisbee would take when he released it. Finally, with all of his strength, he threw the disc.

It was another pretty lousy throw, but this one at least missed the tree and any other obstacles and flew through the air like it was supposed to. Kutter, barking furiously, chased after it, running across the park at top speed while kicking up snow. He leapt up into the air and caught the Frisbee in his mouth.

Wow. Charlie was impressed. He certainly couldn't do that.

Kutter happily scampered back over to Charlie and dropped the Frisbee in front of him. Then Kutter snatched it back up as Charlie reached for it. It was a bizarre combination of fetch and tug-of-war--clearly the poor animal had never been taught how to separate the individual games. No problem. Charlie played along, making several attempts to retrieve the Frisbee before Kutter let go of his prize.

The next throw was infinitely better. Charlie hoped lots of people had seen it, because it went perfectly straight and almost beyond the edge of the park. Kutter caught this one, too.

"You're pretty talented," Charlie told the dog. "That's a good skill to have."

It wasn't really, unless there was a market for Frisbee-catching, but everybody else in the park was complimenting their pets, so why shouldn't Charlie? He scratched Kutter behind the ears, then threw the Frisbee again.

And again. And again.

He threw the Frisbee until his arm ached. Kutter never seemed to get tired of it. On the seventh or eighth throw, Charlie accidentally blurted out "Go get it, boy!" which was of course a completely pointless command, but he found that he felt a surprising lack of self-consciousness while saying it, so he kept it up, going so far as to cheer on the dog as it sprinted toward the purple Frisbee. Though Kutter didn't catch it every single time, he at least got three out of four, and the ones he missed could generally be blamed on the quality of Charlie's throw.

Charlie shifted to his left arm when his right arm started to go numb, but after a throw that involved flinging the Frisbee straight down into the ground, he decided to quit for the day. He checked his watch. Wow. They'd been there over two hours. It hadn't felt anywhere near that long.

It was a lousy hunt, but a good day.