The Virgin Killer is a story about a psychotic antisocial who interprets his dreams as visions from the angels in heaven. His twisted and troubled mind believes his mission is to kill in order to rid the world of sin. The victims are exotic dancers from the area strip clubs. It is they who sometimes appear in his dreams, and should he become aroused by them, it only proves his mission is valid. Angie Gibbs, the beautiful assistant state's attorney, has outlined the serial killers profile and, with the help of two patrolmen, Boris Greske and Tommy Arthur, set about to catch him and end his reign of terror. The two patrolmen and four other friends make up a group that plays poker every Friday evening. The game travels to a different house each week, allowing the reader to meet interesting characters who add romance, drama, and humor. Hamilton Barfield III owns a realty agency but loves to share salty humor before the poker game begins. It has become a tradition. Donald Bennett, a veterinarian, is a bachelor father who raised his daughter Karen by himself after his wife died seven years earlier. He was introduced to Angie Gibbs, the red-haired divorcee, at the group's annual barbeque. Their romance followed; however, Donald was continuously confused by his feelings for the hazel-eyed Addison Lynch. Addison, nearly twenty years his junior, has loved Donald since high school. She's made no secret about it and claimed Donald loved her as well but just didn't realize it. Addison is the owner of Rambling Rascal the champion Standard bred pacer. Her dramatic and dreadful racing accident left her paralyzed and jolted Donald to face the truth proving her right. The Virgin Killer is George Edward Moon's second novel. The story and characters are pure fiction. Any resemblance to those living or dead is truly coincidental. Like Reno's Funmakers before it, the Virgin Killer reflects the authors fast-paced style and is an easy and e

Auszug. � Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

The Virgin Killer

By George Edward Moon

Trafford Publishing

Copyright � 2012 George Edward Moon
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4669-1901-3

Chapter One

The message light, on the telephone near the bed, continued to blink. It had been doing so all night. Looking through the bedroom window, the hotel neon sign is reflected off the darkened glass of the building across the street. It was that time in the morning when the city was silent. That hollow quietness deceiving you into thinking all is right with the world. An isolated bus pulled to a stop on the street below. The driver was the only creature aboard. His stop is required by schedule and part of the automatic routine. The hush was broken by the sound of the motor as it revved away from the curb. Soon the serene softness will be disturbed by sounds of activity as the city awakens—more vehicles on the streets, people going to work, shouts of greeting from the neighborhood, and soon the blood curdling scream of the housekeeper after letting herself in the room and finding its occupant naked, bloodied and dead.

Police officer Boris Greske answered the call from dispatch and he and his partner, Tommy Arthur were first on the scene. The housekeeper was still in hysterics. Her English wasn't good before, and now, being overly excited and hysterical to boot, made Greske's head ache even worse. Greske and Arthur had been drinking most of the day prior to their evening shift. When it came to the bottle, there weren't many who could keep up with these two experienced pros. Over the years, they had built up a tolerance to the effect of the devils brew, or they thought they had. To the outside observer, both men appeared to talk and walk in slow motion. However, to each other, they believed they were as quick as a click. This morning, after a night of little to no action, the city's nest were pissed off for having to work close to their normal quitting time.

Best of friends since joining the force, Boris and Tommy bowled on the same team in a Wednesday night league and played poker every Friday in a traveling game at each other's house. The revolving game consisted of six steady players. Besides Boris and Tommy, there were four other regulars: Melvin Lee, the sales manager of the Buick dealership, Donald J. Bennett, veterinarian, Michael 'Mickey' Hanrahan, owner of Mickey's Restaurant and Hamilton Barfield III of Barfield's Insurance Agency.

They all looked forward to the Friday game. Cold beer and sandwiches made up the food and beverage most evenings. Usually, the menu was supplemented with chips and pretzels brought in by the other players. The game was five and seven card stud or five card draw poker. Wild cards were mentioned only after enough booze had been consumed. These men were purists and would never play any crazy game. That is, until they drank enough to forget who they claimed to be.

"I wish the Chief Deputy would hurry up and get his butt over here," Boris whispered to Tommy. "People are going to begin to get nosey and before long we'll have a crowd on our hands and be here forever."

"They said he'll be here right away. We can't do much until he shows up. Did you see the corpse?" Tommy asked.

"Yeah, she's got a nice ass but there was just too much blood for me to get a good look," Boris replied.

"How old do you think she was?"

"I don't know, maybe twenty or so."

While the two officers were talking, a man walked across the street and turned to go into the hotel. He was obviously the daytime relief for the night desk clerk.

"No you don't," Tommy said as he held out his arm to prevent him entering. "Nobody goes inside until the Lieutenant gets here. He'll be asking questions so just wait a couple minutes."

"What's the problem? Has somebody been hurt?" The desk clerk questioned.

"Looks like we got a homicide here and I can't tell you more than that."

"Has the night clerk been killed?"

"No, now no more questions," Tommy said gruffly.

"That's a relief, I'm the day clerk and sure as hell don't want to get shot."

Tommy thought to himself, what a pathetic bastard. Nobody's been shot. The upstairs girl got her throat cut.

Boris and Tommy had enough seniority to be on the day shift. The past two weeks was a favor to another cop who needed to be with his wife during her remaining days in hospice. Their response to other officers in need was another reason for their popularity within the force. No one had a word of derision to be said about them. And, to top it off, they actually did care about a fellow policeman, ready to help when needed, even to the point of bearing false witness if the situation required it. Like many policemen, the home life received marginal attention. Active duty on the streets built unimaginable nervous tension. The newspapers reported daily about a patrolman being shot and killed. In some neighborhoods, young people lacked respect for any who represented law and order. While wives made home life as comfortable as possible, the day of stress and strain sometimes took more to dissipate. For the two men standing guard at this morning's murder scene, alcohol worked best of all. Ironically, less was consumed at home until playing cards or when bowling in their league. Both had children and a proper image ruled the day except on poker nights. It was reluctantly agreed that one day out of the week shouldn't give that bad of an impression.

Tommy and Boris communicated with each other using their cell phones. It worked well for them whenever one or the other operated out of sight. Today served as a perfect example. Boris was guarding the crime scene and Tommy stood outside for crowd control and awaiting Chief Deputy Mackey.

Several vehicles approached the hotel with their sirens wailing. Chief Deputy Mackey pulled up and parked in the street. He was followed by an ambulance with three paramedics inside. Next in line were three more black and whites. Soon a full contingency of law men occupied the street and walled off the area. By now the local TV station had set up and began broadcasting.

"Where's Greske?" Mackey asked as he approached Tommy.

"He's upstairs guarding the crime scene," Tommy replied as the paramedics hurried past. Observers took note that they were carrying a stretcher. Tommy noticed that Mackey had company. One of the division's detectives also climbed the steps and entered with him. He had seen him before but was never introduced.

Chief Deputy Mackey acknowledged officer Greske and introduced Detective Wilson before entering the room.

"Has anything been touched?" asked Wilson.

"No sir and I've been guarding here since we first arrived," Boris stated.

"We?" questioned the detective.

"Officer Arthur and me," said Boris.

"They are partners on the evening shift for the area," Mackey explained further.

"Once things are cleared up here you both will need to fill out complete reports of your activities and what brought you here this morning," Detective Wilson said formally.

"Yes sir," Boris replied, thinking how pissed Tommy's going to get when he finds out.

"Are you smiling officer Greske?" asked Wilson.

"No sir, I just got a gas pain in the gut," Boris lied.

"You and Arthur are finished here. You can go directly to the station and tend to the paperwork. I understand you both are off until Monday at which time you return to your daytime routine," Chief Deputy Mackey said. Obviously he was emphasizing that fact for Wilson's benefit.

"Yes sir," Boris replied.

The station house was especially active for this early in the morning. Not as much as it will be tonight. Being Friday,...

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