It’s finally here. The climax to the round robin story between Dakota and my characters. If you missed any of the previous segments, scroll down here or check out Dakota’s blog.  This whole thing leads into a contest on her site tomorrow, where among other lovely items, you can get your hands on the very last Road Trip of the Living Dead advance readers copy (ARC), oh yeah.  I’ll even sign the son of a bitch, so if I get caught up in a political sex scandal, or cut off my own ear on national television, or otherwise become famous, then it might even be worth something.  Now, without further adieu, here’s part 7.

Slab Fab

It took a lot of personal strength not to tear off my vomit covered Louboutin’s and ram the heel through the usher’s forehead, or I suppose I could even use the knitting needles (one for each eye), or even to just flog the shit out of him until he resembled one of those Spanish supplicants on PBS.  But before I could make a move, he twisted out of the tangle of clothes, medical equipment/fashion gear and gangly dead model limbs and aimed a little snubnose revolver straight at me.

“So I guess you’ve figured it all out, haven’t you?  You think you’re pretty smart.”  He held out his hand, a reminder of my little power play before the murder played out.

I shrugged.  Nodded.

Truth was, I had no idea.  But I didn’t want Nina to know that.  As far as she knew, I’d somehow managed to take the odd mix of sadism and knitting that spilled from girlfriend’s bag and turned it into an acceptable conclusion.  She could keep thinking that.

“Well then, I’m going to have to take care of you.”  He cocked the gun.

“Well,” I said, lifting my hands in front of me.  “What I meant to say is, she–” I pointed to Nina.  “She’s figured it all out.  I don’t know anything.”

Nina scowled at me and then turned that frown upside down for the usher.  “Sweetheart.  It’s all good.  So you killed your boyfriend.  No big deal.  We won’t tell.”

“My boyfriend?” He screamed.  “Rudolfo was no one’s boyfriend!  That little drag king was a woman and a kinky bitch at that.  And now she’s dead.”  His grin was absolutely glowing, also insane.

Now, normally, I caught on to the transgender trick real quick, but Garcia had me fooled.  I looked at the Cat o’ Nine Tails laying on the floor like a leather squid and imagine the little usher offering up a harsh lashing to the designer’s back, while she drew on her thin trademark mustache.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

“So why’d you kill her?”  I gestured toward the dead model.  “Or them, I guess?”

 ”I’m not telling you that.  You’ll be joining them soon enough.”

I noticed Marty standing alone near the door, chewing on her nails.

“Really?  It seems like a waste of time to kill us.  We don’t even care.  Hell, we could help you dispose of the bodies.”  I didn’t think elaborating on the “how” would be very helpful, after all, he didn’t appear to be a supernatural, just crazy.

“That won’t be necessary. I’m just about to get outta here.”

“But they’ll track you down.  Once they figure out you’re the mastermind behind Garcia’s designs.”

“What?” Nina’s hands were on her hips, a quizzical look spread over her otherwise pretty face.

“All the crocheted work?  The knitting needles.  Our host here has been doing a little behind the scenes design work.  That’s my best guess.”

From the far side of the room, Gil had crept behind the racks of clothing, ever so often a rustle of fabric alerted to his nearing.

“And you’re right.  Rudolfa’s been stealing my designs for years.  And my dignity.” His gaze fell dramtically on the little whip, like some extra from an Almodovar flick.  I half expected him to throw the back of his hand up to his forehead.

“But to kill him so elaborately.  The murder and framing of a fashion model is completely understandable, but why the public cheese slicer?  It seems a tad histrionic.”

He aimed the gun and fired, clipping my calf and dropping me where I stood.  Gil darted from behind the nearest rack of hideous fashion and twisted the usher’s head around like a bottle lid.  The body was lifeless before it hit the floor.

Nina caught up to Marty and headed out the door. “It’s been fun!” she yelled and the two disappeared.

 ”Will you look at this shit?”  I poked at the gore hanging through the ruined fabric.  “This was vintage Dior!”

In the distance, sirens wailed.

 

Finis.

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Thanks for playing and remember to check out Dakota’s blog tomorrow!