Sex and Murder Magazine

By Simon Weathers

Ken Jay paused outside the apartment building, pizza in hand, ready to make his delivery. He thought about how many times he had been to this apartment complex. Graffiti covered its old gray stones and most of its windows were cracked or taped up. He thought about how it was full of snotty-ass college students and how he probably would get a shitty tip.

Ken Jay proceeded into the building anyway. He reached up and pushed the button for apartment 11. The voice on the other side of the intercom sounded older and gruffer than expected. Maybe it wasn’t a college student. Maybe Ken Jay would get a decent tip after all.

Once he was buzzed in, Ken Jay began his trek through the building. Instructions that the gruff voice gave Ken Jay echoed in his head: first floor, to the right, down the hall, and around the corner.

As Ken Jay passed the laundry room, some college kids asked if he had any extra pizzas. “Just the one and it’s spoken for.” Stupid college kids turn into vultures when the smell of pizza is in the air, he thought.

Ken Jay thought about his son to remind himself why he put up with this job, why he put up with the disrespect, and why he couldn’t get into any more trouble.

Ken Jay found apartment 11 and knocked on the door. An older man answered, but not as old as Ken Jay expected. The owner of the gruff voice was pale and a bit lanky and had messy, black hair.

“Hey, come on in. You can set the pizza on the table there while I get your money. How much was it?”

“$12.32,” Ken Jay replied. The apartment was a small studio with a kitchenette in the corner. It was just like all the other apartments in the building. Aside from a bed, the small table was about the only bit of furniture in the room.

Ken Jay set the pizza down and watched as the man pulled a suitcase out from under the bed. The man placed the suitcase on top of the bed and tried to position himself in front so that Ken Jay could not see what was inside. He was unsuccessful and Ken Jay got a good peek at the bundles of cash stacked inside.

With that kind of cash, I am sure to get a decent tip, Ken Jay thought.

The man closed the suitcase and turned to hand Ken Jay a single $10 bill. Then he rummaged through his pockets and came out with two singles. Finally, the man scraped through some coins sitting on the table and came back with exact change. “$12.32 perfect.”

Ken Jay couldn’t believe he was being stiffed a tip. “That it, man?”

“Oh, hold on a sec.” The man went over to the pizza and lifted the top. “Does this have extra cheese on it?”

“If that’s what you ordered. I don’t make the pizza, I just deliver them,” Ken Jay said, frustrated.

The cheapskate paused, as if he was going to push the issue. Ken Jay dared him to say something. The only reason Ken Jay held back was because he hoped the man might come to his senses.

“I guess that should be fine.”

Furious, Ken Jay left. With each step, his anger grew and it was a long walk through the hall to the exit of the building.

Ken Jay couldn’t stop thinking about it. Fuck that guy. He has all that money and he blatantly stiffs me? Ken Jay began to think that the guy meant to let him see all that cash, to rub in the fact that Ken Jay wasn’t getting a tip. No one should put up with that. I’m no bitch.

Ken Jay paused at the door, debating whether to go back and beat the shit out of the guy. Just then, a college student walked in. “Hey man, you got any extra pizzas to offload?”

Ken Jay pushed the kid hard up against the row of metal mailboxes. “Fuck you, man. I ain’t got shit for your cracker ass.”

Ken Jay stormed out of the building, but his anger started to subside. He knew exactly what he was going to do. Ken Jay was going to come back and steal that cheapskate’s money. It was a whole suitcase full of tens and twenties. There was probably tens of thousands of dollars, maybe more.

Ken Jay thought about the possibilities, all the things he could do with that much money. He could dump his sorry job and make something of himself. Maybe get that single recorded, get it in the right hands, finally get discovered. Ken Jay had aspirations and if he had to revert back to being a hoodlum to show his son that he wasn’t a hoodlum, so be it.

That guy would be easy pickings, anyway. Ken Jay had experience and he could pull it off. It wouldn’t be his first robbery. No, Ken Jay had plenty of experience.

He stole cars before. The owners didn’t know how to take care of them. One even left the keys in the ignition. Ken Jay was just seeing that they got into the hands of people who would care for them. And make a little money on the side.

He had also mugged one of those punk-ass college kids. Took the baby’s milk money that mommy and daddy sent him. Ken Jay stabbed the prick in the leg when he tried to fight back, too. It served him right.

Not to mention that takeout restaurant Ken Jay robbed. The assholes messed up Ken Jay’s order and wouldn’t fix it. They thought they could pull one over on Ken Jay, but he showed them.
And it was all justified. Just like robbing this cheapskate with the suitcase of cash was going to be justified. It would teach that guy a lesson he wouldn’t forget.

Ken Jay finished his shift. All the while, he contemplated what he was going to do, how he would get all that money and what he would do with all that money.

First thing he would do was get his son some new shoes, expensive ones.

Ken Jay gathered up the equipment he would need and tried to wait until 2 a.m. He had found a mask, a knife, some gloves, and a crowbar. Ken Jay had wanted to get a gun, but that kind of stuff wasn’t easy to get at the last minute and it might raise some suspicions. Plus, this guy looked like a pushover and Ken Jay was sure he wouldn’t need firepower.

The hardest part would be waiting.

Around 1:30 a.m., Ken Jay put all the equipment in one of his pizza warmers and walked up to the front of the apartment complex. He started buzzing some of the rooms on the top floor. The first couple didn’t answer.

One guy answered and Ken Jay repeated the line he had come up with. “Hey, pizza delivery here. I got a pepperoni pizza here and the guy isn’t home. You want to buy it cheap?”

“No, man, I’m sleeping.”

Ken Jay moved on to the next room, and repeated.

“Yeah, how much?”

“$5,” Ken Jay said.

“I only got $4.”

“Fine” Ken Jay said, thinking he should rob that cheap bastard, too.

Ken Jay was buzzed in and he made his way to the side apartment on the bottom floor. Number 11, a filthy, roach-infested bank vault filled with cash.

Approaching the door, Ken Jay paused. He thought about how to break in. He brought the crowbar for this purpose, but that may be too loud and might not even work.

Maybe I should just knock and see if the guy answers the door, Ken Jay thought.

He put his finger over the peephole and was about to knock when he had a second thought. Maybe he left the door unlocked. Ken Jay reached down and tried the knob. It turned easily. Ken Jay smiled and thought, Stupid, trusting cheapskate thinks nothing is going to happen to him.

After putting on his mask, Ken Jay pulled the knife and crowbar out of the pizza warmer. He tucked the knife in his belt and held the crowbar in his hand.

Ken Jay cracked the door open and listened. Silence. He pushed the door open a little further, just enough to slip into the dark crevice beyond.

Suddenly, an arm thrust out of the shadows and grabbed Ken Jay’s arm. He was pulled into the apartment, into an embrace like a steel trap. A wet cloth smothered Ken Jay’s face. The smell reminded him of huffing paint thinner. He held his breath.

Ken Jay struggled but he was easily manipulated by the strong hands. About to suffocate, Ken Jay finally breathed in the chemical fumes. His head got light and he felt his legs go weak.
Then nothing.

*****

Sid stared at the young black man who was still unconscious, gagged, and bound to a chair in the middle of his cheap studio apartment. Sid smiled.

Sifting through the kid’s wallet, Sid pulled out the driver’s license. It told Sid that the punk’s name was Kenneth James Walters, 6’2” and 26 years old.

It was time to wake Kenneth so Sid placed some smelling salts under the young man’s nose. Slowly Sid’s captive came to and Kenneth drowsily opened his eyes. With slow determination, he tried to move his arms, then his legs, and then Kenneth tried to speak, all attempts failing.

Suddenly the realization took hold of Kenneth. He began bucking and thrashing violently. Sid figured he better put a stop to it before the punk hurt himself. After all, that was Sid’s job.

Sid grabbed the knife that was tucked in Kenneth’s belt and held it up to the punk’s neck. The thrashing stopped.

“I’m going to remove the gag for a moment,” Sid said. “You make any sounds other than answering my questions and I’ll use this knife to cut out your larynx. That’s this lump in your throat that helps you talk. Some people call it a voice box.” Sid prodded it with the tip of the blade.

With the knife in one hand Sid removed the gag with his other. “Kenneth James Walters, that’s your name, isn’t it?”

“People call me Ken Jay.”

“People call you that, huh? What kind of people, your friends?”

“I guess.” Kenneth had regained his composure. The boy was downright curt with his answers.

“Well, Kenneth James Walters, I am not your friend.” Sid tossed the knife aside and pulled out his gun.

“Listen, I got a son. I was just…”

Sid karate chopped Kenneth’s throat, just hard enough to shut Kenneth up and to cause him to cough. While Kenneth’s mouth was open, Sid slipped the gag back in and tightened it more than what was required.

“I didn’t ask you about that, now did I, Kenneth? I don’t give a shit about your son. I don’t care if you are the father of Jesus Christ. You’re just a little fish to me.”

Sid could see the fear seeping into Kenneth’s eyes, overtaking the anger. It was a slow progression, but it was there. Thrown in the mix was confusion. Probably due to the “fish” comment.

“My name is Sid Ashton. People call me Sid Vicious. If you are familiar with punk rock, which I doubt you are, you may think they call me that because I like that sort of music. Or maybe because my appearance is similar to that of the original Sid Vicious.” Sid licked his lips in anticipation. “Well if you were to make those assumptions, Kenneth, you would be wrong.”

The anger was almost drained from Kenneth’s eyes, but this was only because the confusion had superseded it. Sid knew he should hurry things up but he couldn’t help himself. The squirming beforehand was almost more enjoyable than the torture that would follow.

“They call me Sid Vicious because of what I do for a living. You see, Kenneth, I am a hitman. My specialty is torture, real upscale, expensive stuff. You want someone dead, you hire a two-bit thug like yourself. You want to send someone to hell before you have them killed? Then you hire me.”

That was it. That was the fear in Kenneth’s eyes. The dumb kid was starting to understand the gravity of the situation.

Sid wanted to feed Kenneth an example of his work. He needed something that could really hit home.

There was the time he killed that senator and made it look like a suicide. That was a really tough job. It took a lot of skill to torture someone and still manage to make their death look like a suicide.

No. Sid was doubtful that Kenneth would appreciate the difficulty and challenge of that job.
He could tell Kenneth about the drug lord’s family that he killed. A wife, two kids, and a sister. It was cold-hearted and brutal stuff.

That might do it, but Sid wanted a story that Kenneth would have heard about. Certainly Kenneth didn’t bother to keep track of international news.

Sid decided to go with the local job, the reason he was in this shitty town to begin with. It wasn’t the worst thing he had done, but at least there was a good chance that Kenneth would know it.

“Maybe you have heard about the murder of Lt. Tanner? It happened several months ago. Ring any bells? That was my handiwork. In fact, it is the reason I returned to this wretched city. I had to collect the rest of my fee.”

Sid pulled the briefcase of cash out and placed in on top of his bed. He opened it so Kenneth could get a good look. “That’s right, there’s $100,000 in there. $200K was the total price of that job. A hundred up front and another hundred after the job was done.”

Sid laid his gun on top of the cash and reached under the bed and pulled out another case. This one was larger, an aluminum travel case with the words “Pandora’s Box” scratched on its front. “The papers downplayed the torture aspect of that murder, but you are about to get a firsthand demonstration.”

The fear in Kenneth’s eyes took over, but the boy still hadn’t begun to squirm. Sid decided to drag it out a bit longer.

Opening “Pandora’s Box” Sid began to remove the instruments from within, one at a time. “I enjoy my job, Kenneth, especially the torture part.”

Sid pulled a pair of pliers out of the case and placed them on the bed. “And it pays really well, as you already saw.”

Next, Sid removed a scalpel and laid it beside the pliers. “The only bad thing is that because of the… specialized nature of the work, jobs are few and far between.”

An old utility knife was the next instrument to take its place on the bed. “That means I need to find some extracurricular activities to occupy my time.”

A small, round, plastic container held various sizes of fish hooks. “Oh yeah, FISH… that is what I was going to explain to you. Why you are a little fish.” Sid rattled the container of fish hooks in front of Kenneth’s eyes. To Sid’s amazement the boy still didn’t squirm.

“See, I’m a big fish and sometimes I have to look for little fish when work has been slow. I need little fish to sate my appetite.” Sid gave the fish hooks one good final shake to emphasize his point. “Usually that involves pissing people off, making some enemies, maybe flash some cash, and see who comes looking for trouble. And tonight you are the little fish.”

Kenneth still wasn’t squirming so the unloading of the case continued. Sid made sure Kenneth could see each item as he pulled them out. Soldering iron. Syringe. Various vials of chemicals.

“I have many tools in my case here. Some are high-tech, but many of them are not. It is funny though. Time and time again I find myself returning to the simplest and least complicated device.”

Sid removed a wire hanger from the case. With slow determination he began to untwist the neck of the hook. “The human body has many external orifices: nostrils, eyes, mouth, ears…” Sid cocked a smile for the next two. “…anus and urethra.” The fear in Kenneth’s eyes began to boil with panic. Still the boy resisted giving in to it. He just stared at Sid intently.

Sid continued to straighten out the hanger as he approached Kenneth. “I can assure you, based on my clinical trials, that every single one of these orifices causes the body extreme pain when it is explored with a good, old-fashioned, rusty coat hanger.” Sid thought that was sure to get Kenneth, but the boy remained still.

Sid searched Kenneth’s eyes for the reason. Kenneth was looking over Sid’s shoulder and the fear in Kenneth’s stare had been replaced with hope.

Sid cursed himself for leaving his gun on the bed atop the suitcase of cash. It was stupid and sloppy. Sid had gotten too wrapped up in the festivities. He grabbed for it as fast as he could but the seconds seemed like hours.

In that moment Sid realized there was one thing - the only thing - which he had in common with his victims. That was the fear of death.

As Sid turned around with his gun in hand, he heard an all-too-familiar sound. Thwip, thwip. Two shots fired from a gun with a silencer. The assailant stood silhouetted in the now-open doorway to Sid’s apartment. He felt the punch to his shoulder and the second to his head. Then nothing.

*****

William stood there, taking a moment to catch his breath. He had done it. He had actually caught the bastard. William was awash with relief that it was over and regret that he was not able to make Sid suffer.

But how could he. If you have a rabid wolf in your sights, you don’t pause to play with it. You are liable to get bit that way. Your best bet is to put it down while you have the chance.
So that is what William did. The rabid dog lay on the ground in front of him, its blood soaked the carpet and made a puddle around the feet of Sid’s would-be victim. William recognized him.
“Ken Jay, right?”

The kid nodded.

“Okay, Ken Jay, this isn’t over just yet. We have to discuss what exactly happened here in a calm and rational manner. If I take that gag off of you, do you think we can have a calm and rational conversation?”

Again Ken Jay nodded.

William looked down at the body on the floor again. The now-cooling lump of flesh had consumed every waking moment of William’s life for months now.

“Alright, here we go.” The gag was removed as William asked, “Do you know who I am?”

“Yeah, you’re a cop, right?”

William cursed inside his head. He had hoped the boy wouldn’t recognize him. “That’s right. Officer William Tanner. The man on the floor already introduced himself to you. Sid also mentioned a man he had killed not long ago, Lt. Dan Tanner. That was my brother.”

William spit on Sid at the thought of what he had done. “Sid was about to do to you the same thing he did to my brother before he killed him. I know this because Sid videotaped the whole thing and sent copies of it to me, my parents, and Danny’s Wife.” William spit on Sid again for good measure.

“Thank… thank you for saving me.”

“Well, that is what we need to talk about. I am not here on official police business. I took a leave of absence from the force after my brother was killed. I have been tracking this piece of shit ever since.” William kicked Sid in the ribs; partly to make sure there was no doubt who William was talking about, partly to reassure himself that Sid was actually dead.

“So, what’s that mean?”

William set his gun down on the briefcase of cash. He picked Sid’s gun up off the ground and set it next to his. “That means I just murdered this man in cold blood, and you are a witness.” William began picking up Sid’s instruments and placing them back in their case.

“Listen, man, I ain’t going to say a thing to anybody about that. You just saved my life. You got my respect for that and that means I wouldn’t ever rat you out.”

William really wanted to believe Ken Jay, but even if he did, it wouldn’t matter.

“Respect? You know about respect?” William finished packing up Sid’s tools and placed the case back under the bed.

“Yeah, I do.”

“What about pride,” William asked.

“Yeah, I know about that.”

William sat on the bed next to the case of cash and the two guns. “Well, I come from a very proud family, a long line of cops that have always been a big part of the police force in this city. My brother was going to be up for police chief. He was going to clean up the organized crime in this city. That is what got him killed.” William lowered his eyes.

“Sorry to hear about that.”

There was sincerity in Ken Jay’s words and William appreciated it. William’s brother was the rising star of the family. Tanners had made it far in the police force but none had ever been chief of police. Danny was going to do it, though. Danny had a real talent for the politics of it. Persuading people to see his side, to take action - all of that was Danny’s forte.

“I, on the other hand, have never done much of anything. I just spend my time working the streets, strong-arming drug pushers, and arbitrating domestic disputes.” Unlike his brother, William never felt at home behind a desk. He was always at his best among the thugs on the streets. He knew how to speak their language and how to push their buttons. That was how he tracked down Sid. It’s how he had patiently waited for the opportunity to avenge his brother.

“Killing Sid here is about the greatest thing I have ever accomplished.” Again he kicked Sid in the ribs. William couldn’t help himself. “To borrow Sid’s metaphor, I’m a little fish who took down the big fish. Problem is, no one can ever know I did it. Not only would I go to jail, but it would tarnish my family name - Danny’s name.”

“Look, man, I ain’t joking. You got my respect for life. I understand pride and I wouldn’t do anything to mess with that. I got a son who I am very proud of. I just want to see him again. He’s my family. He is all I can think about right now. Tyler. Tyler Walters is his name.”

William sympathized. He knew about family. He began to untie Ken Jay. “I am putting a lot of faith in you, Ken Jay. You better not disappoint me.”

William picked up his gun and pointed it. “Now I don’t want you trying anything funny. I’ll clean up here. You just go out that door and forget all about this mess. Go home to your son.”
Ken Jay stood up full of gratitude and relief. “Thank you. Thank you, Officer Tanner. I won’t disappoint you.”

Ken Jay turned to the door and started to leave. Just as he opened the door, William called out to him. “Ken Jay, you better take this for good luck.” William tossed his gun to Ken Jay. It was one he had confiscated off the streets.

Ken Jay caught it instinctually. He looked puzzled as he stood in the doorway holding the gun. William quickly picked up Sid’s gun and squeezed off two shots, both in the chest. Thwip, thwip. Ken Jay collapsed to the floor.

After all of William’s planning and patience, he had been waiting for an opportunity. Ken Jay had turned out to be that opportunity. Not just to distract Sid, but to be William’s scapegoat. There had to be no questions asked and Ken Jay had both the means and the motive - not to mention the murder weapon clutched in his dead hands.

Now William just needed to return Sid’s gun and finish cleaning up. He placed the chair Ken Jay had been bound to back in its proper place. He picked up the rope that bound Ken Jay and placed it in his bag. Finally he looked at the suitcase of cash. That was Ken Jay’s motive.

No one knows exactly how much was in the case. Half of the money was just as good a motive as the full amount. William took $50K out of the case and stuffed it in his bag. He would see that Ken Jay’s son got the money somehow, maybe some kind of college fund.

An education for a father? Maybe that wasn’t a fair trade, but Ken Jay would not have changed his ways. Chances were, Tyler would have followed in his father’s footsteps. We all do, William thought.

Tyler would better off this way. William truly believed that. He had to.