Show of Evil

Fifteen

Lex was pissed off. The last trip of the day and he had to drive thirty-five miles down to Hilltown to deliver a stinking package. Thirty-five fucking miles, and he had two ladies lined up that night. Pick-and-choose time. He laughed and slapped the wheel of the minivan. Maybe he could get them both interested. Hell, what a night that would be!

But first things first. Thirty-five miles down to Hilltown. He couldn't speed.

Two tickets down, one more and I'm out. He couldn't afford to lose his licence, the job was too good, except when they dumped a late load on him and he had to drive thirty-five miles down and thirty-five miles back. And drop off the stupid package. Seventy miles. Ten minutes to do the package. Two hours, no more. He'd be back in town by 8 P.M. Then he'd make up his mind.

Toni? Or Jessie? What a choice. Brunette or redhead?

He was thinking so hard he almost missed the turnoff.

He wheeled the minivan off the main highway and headed down the last two miles on a two-lane blacktop.

Christ, who the hell would want to live out in this godforsaken place? His headlights led him to the city limits.

What a joke. City limits? A city? Twelve hundred people? The whole damn town would hardly fill up the old Paramount Theatre in St Louis. He turned on the dome light and took out the delivery slip.

Calvin Spiers. RFD 2.

Shit, the whole place was one big RFD.

He turned it over. Someone had scribbled instructions on the back. He slowed down and squinted under the dim dome light.

'Left past public library. One and a half miles to bright red mail-box just past Elmo's Superstore.'

Well, that oughtta be easy enough.

Ten minutes later found him out on a country road on the other side of Hilltown. Elmo's Superstore was on the right, a garish, low-slung cinder-block building with a flashing BUD sign on the roof. He drifted past it and his headlights picked up the red mailbox.

'Piece a cake,' he said aloud.

He pulled down the dirt road, peering into the darkness for signs of life. Finally he saw the house, off to the left through the trees. It was a small bungalow set back in the woods with a well-kept yard. The porch light was out, but he could see a light behind the curtains of what he assumed was the living room. He turned into the rutted driveway and beeped the horn twice, then got out, went to the other side of the van, and slid the door back. The package was about a foot square and light, no more than one or two pounds. He checked the name, took his delivery pad, and went to the front door.

Must not of heard me, he thought as he went up the steps to the porch. Then he saw the note. It was tucked in the screen door. He put the package down and pulled out the note.

UPD man: Had to run to the store. Door open. Please put package on table in den, second door on left. Thank you.

He tried the door and it swung open to reveal a long, dark hallway that led back to an open door. Light from the living room spilled over into the hall, reflected into the darkness of the hall.

Shit, I oughtta just leave it here. What the hell do they think I am?

'Anybody here?' No answer. 'Mr Spier?'

But he picked up the package and headed down the hall. He saw a light switch and flicked it, but there was no bulb in the overhead socket.

Great. Coulda left me a flashlight at least.

'Anybody here? UPD,' he called as he approached the den door.

He peered inside the darkened room, squinting his eyes to try to make out a light or a lamp. He put the box down and, facing the wall, swept his hands over its smooth surface, feeling for the light switch. He did not hear the figure emerge from the darkness behind him, moving slowly, raising its hand high. There was a flash in the light from the living room. Lex started to turn, then felt a searing pain piercing deep into his back and into his chest.

He screamed and stumbled forward, felt the blade slide out of his back as he grabbed the doorjamb. Then he felt it again, this time plunging down through his shoulder. He fell to his knees, reached out in the dark and felt the back of a chair, and grabbed it.

'Oh God,' he cried out, 'I'm just… delivery man. UPD… Please!'

The knife struck again. And again. And again. It ripped into his back, his side, his arm as he floundered weakly, trying to escape the deadly blade. He felt his life seeping out of him. He began to shake violently. The room became an echo chamber and he seemed to reverberate within it. He tasted salt. Sweat showered from his face.

Then he felt hot breath beside his ear and a voice whispered, 'Billy… Peter…'

'My… God…' Lex answered feebly. The last thing he felt was the deadly blade slicing into his throat, slashing through tissue and muscle. Air burst from the gaping wound and showered blood as it hissed from his lungs. With demonic glee, the assassin kept striking over and over and over in the darkness of the room.

When the deadly work was done, the executioner dipped a finger in the widening pool of blood and, lifting the hair on the back of the victims head, printed, R4.1102.'