KILLER ADDICTION: When Murder Becomes A Habit

Chapter 27

Chapter 27

RYAN’S PULSE QUICKENED and his breathing sped up as the adrenaline surged through his body. After a week of planning and observation, it was time for action.

Ryan had arrived at the McDonald’s restaurant well after closing time and parked his Harley way over in a dark corner of the carpark, then walked back to the all-night parking garage. He spotted The Blimp in his booth and the classic old Lincoln parked nearby. Ryan made his way over to the car on the side away from the booth, inserted a thin steel bar between the window and the door sill and quickly levered up the door lock on the old car. He slid into the back seat and lay waiting for The Blimp’s work shift to end.

Ryan checked his pockets and removed his important items. He had the Ketamine, a horse tranquilliser stolen from a veterinarian’s surgery. He had the alarm code of the McDonald’s restaurant, purchased for fifty bucks from a disgruntled employee who Ryan had observed in an argument with the slovenly night manager. And he had the keys for the door to the loading dock along with the keys for the forklift, which he had taken unnoticed from the locker room at the back of the restaurant just before it had closed for the night. He was wearing his trademark black gloves and had his trusty switchblade ready to go. The last piece was the black ski mask to cover his face from security cameras. He was well prepared, thanks to Leonard’s “imaginings”, he thought with a smile.

Ryan peered out over the edge of the doorsill and noticed the next shift arriving. The Blimp squeezed his way out of the booth and lumbered over to the grand old vehicle and climbed into the driver’s seat, oblivious to what was lying in wait for him. Ryan knew he must hurry to avoid any delay in The Blimp’s departure being noticed by the new attendant in the booth. Just as his victim prepared to insert the key into the ignition, Ryan jammed the syringe right into a prominent vein in the man’s neck and drove the plunger home, then pressed his switch blade against the fat folds of his victim’s neck to control the shocked response. Ryan whispered urgently in his ear, ‘Relax, boy, relax, no need to stress, you’ll feel much better in no time.’

The horse tranquilliser acted fast; The Blimp weighed in somewhere close to a small horse, so it had been easy for Leonard to work out the right dose, with a healthy margin to make sure he would be well and truly out of it in less than a minute. Ryan felt the stiff body go slack, and then the massive head lolled to one side.

Ryan jumped over into the front seat next to The Blimp, reached for the seat adjuster and slid the seat back as far as it could go. Then he moved the thick legs out of the way of the pedals, sat in close next to him and turned the key in the ignition. The big 460 cubic inch V8 purred into life, and Ryan slipped the selector into gear. He carefully drove out into the street and went the couple of blocks to McDonald’s, keeping the big steering wheel steady and controlling the pedals with his left foot reaching over into the driver’s footwell.

Ryan eased the car around the back of the McDonald’s, near the loading dock. He checked on The Blimp, who was still unconscious, then jumped out of the car and walked across to the rear door of the restaurant. He checked the keys and the alarm code one last time, then unlocked the door, hustled over to the alarm panel and entered the code, safely disabling the alarm. He went through the kitchen, hit the button on the wall to fire up the deep fryer, and then moved across to the loading dock. He started up the small forklift and drove it out through the door of the loading dock and parked it near the car.

Ryan pulled the driver’s door open wide and looked in at The Blimp, sleeping calmly and breathing deeply. ‘You are one big dude, my man,’ said Ryan with a soft whistle, as he contemplated the task ahead of him. He drove the forklift right up to the car, pushed the fork tines close together and raised them up level with the door sill. Then he reached low inside the car and dragged out both the man’s legs, resting them on one of the forklift tines. Then he reached in and grabbed the right arm and heaved, rotating and pulling the limp body from the car. It was heavy work, and Ryan soon worked up a sweat from the exertion as he heaved the body, working it out of the car and on to the forklift.

Finally, The Blimp flopped fully out of the vehicle and lodged safely face down on the forklift tines. Ryan was thankful the forklift was narrow and manoeuvrable, ideal for working in small spaces and simple for staff to use with little experience. He carefully reversed the forklift away from the car and shut the door, then turned it around and drove up the loading dock ramp and into the back of the restaurant.

Ryan made his way into the kitchen, carefully navigating the narrow passageway. As he reached the stainless-steel bench, Ryan raised the forklift and laid The Blimp on his enormous stomach on the bench beside the cooker, then reversed and slid the tines out from under the body and moved the forklift back out of the way.

Ryan returned to the kitchen and checked the deep fryer which had now reached the intense heat of boiling oil. He climbed up onto the other side of the cooker, sitting on the bench with his knees up and feet braced against the deep fryer. As he approached this glorious ultimate act, his heart raced, and a manic smile broke out across his face.

Ryan reached across the top of the deep fryer, grabbed The Blimp under his armpits and heaved, sliding the body towards him. Slowly, the head and shoulders inched towards Ryan, dropping closer and closer to the surface of the boiling oil. Finally, with one more enormous pull, the weight of the man’s upper body dropped his head into the deep fryer.

The impact was fierce and immediate. Ryan leapt back from the deep fryer, out of the line of fire. The oil instantly bubbled up in a maelstrom of spitting bubbles as it attacked the soft flesh and fat. The searing shock and pain pounded an adrenaline rush through the poor man’s body that burst through the effects of the horse tranquilliser. The head violently jerked up from the boiling oil and a blood-curdling scream emanated from the throat of the thrashing victim. His face looked like a horror movie–the boiling oil had seared off the skin and flayed it back to flesh and bone. There were no lips, eyes, nose, ears, or hair; all that remained was just a meaty skull.

There was no consciousness in the jerking response, just a primal reaction of the most basic of bodily functions. The heart stopped from the shock; the brain ceased functioning, and the head flopped back into the deep fryer. He was stone-dead, with the massive frame hanging limply into the cooker. The only remaining signs of life were a few spasmodic jerks of the arms and legs, which soon ended.

The smell of burning flesh and the sound of sizzling oil continued as Ryan stared wide-eyed, dumbfounded at the hell he had just unleashed. Slowly, he reached out and hit the button to turn off the deep fryer.

‘Fat killed by fat. Nice touch, Leonard,’ said Ryan as he studied the mess in the deep fryer. ‘Gotta hand it to ya buddy, that was a doozy!’

The sheer enormity of what he had just done suddenly hit Ryan. This kill was more visceral and in-your-face violent than the quiet, calculated manner of his earlier two murders. It left him with a unique feeling, almost a sense of awe at his growing repertoire of murders, as he realised that this third act won him the official title of “serial killer”.

Ryan got down from the bench and went to the office area. He found the night manager’s phone number on the wall and dialled it. The response was quick, and a worried voice answered, ‘Hey! Who’s this? Why are you calling from my restaurant phone line?’

‘There’s a Blimp on the menu,’ said Ryan. ‘You should come and check it out—there’s plenty to go around for everyone. But don’t bring the cops, otherwise it won’t go too well for your brother; he’s fried.’

Ryan hung up the phone, then opened the drive-through window and exited through the rear door, retreating outside to a secluded vantage point where he could still see and hear the kitchen through the open drive-through window. Just a few minutes later, the night manager tore into the parking lot and raced inside through the back door. Ryan edged out of his hiding place and moved closer to the window for a better view of the kitchen.

He saw the night manager enter the kitchen and stop dead in his tracks, seemingly unable to process the sheer horror of the scene laid out before him. He walked over to the still-smoking vat of oil and said, ‘Colin? Is that you, Bro?’ and poked the lifeless body. Even though Colin’s face wasn’t visible, it was hard to mistake the body. As Colin’s brother finally processed the scene, he broke down and started freaking out, crying, babbling, banging his fists on benches and throwing things around the kitchen in a flurry. The effects of the man’s misery and anguish surged through Ryan like an electric shock and he felt supercharged as this all-important last act played itself out.

Ryan ran across the empty parking lot, jumped on his Harley, gunned the engine to life and took off. Inside, the night manager barely registered the noise on the periphery of his consciousness as he frantically pulled out his phone and dialled 911.

Ryan continued his wild ride straight to the streetwalkers, picked up a random hooker and had s*x with her on a dumpster in a grimy alley. The perfect end to a perfect night.