Serial Killers: Single and Looking (Part 2) by Joseph P. Hutchinson
- Serial Killers: Single and Looking (Part 1) by Joseph P. Hutchinson
- Serial Killers: Single and Looking (Part 2) by Joseph P. Hutchinson
- Serial Killers: Single and Looking (Part 3) by Joseph P. Hutchinson
Samantha’s eyes track the same path as her illustrated and animated companions, watching the new guest stand at the classic diner counter. He’s fidgety, toying with the zipper on his stained and over worn green hooded sweatshirt. His black plastic framed glasses, like those worn by Buddy Holly appear to be new if not for the betrayal of the glue stains by the arm joints. The watch on his wrist along with the low tech phone poking out of his pocket, reek of a fixed income. A smile creeps across the occupants of the booth as Samantha lowers her gaze back to her meal.
Gabrielle and Marilyn return to their seats and activities while the boy’s attention remains locked on the strange awkward man. Gabrielle, Marilyn and Samantha hasten their mastication while glancing over to the boy in unison.
“Trevor’s really looking forward to playing with him, Sammy,” spits Gabrielle while pointing her knife at the boy, “It’s been years since anyone has gotten his attention like this.”
“Oh, I know,” Samantha retorts while eating a mouthful of pancakes, “I feel like I am about to burst with excitement, “After all this time, finally someone we all agree on.”
“Mmmm, yes. It’s been almost…what now…3 months since that…Sgt What’s her face….,” chimes in Marilyn with hash browns covered in melted slice cheese overflowing her fork, “Fuck….Why can’t I remember that sluts name…”
“Sgt Margot Helena Kimble…Biggest piece of shit ever,” Gabrielle interjects with before joining Marilyn in eating the hash browns in unison with Samantha.
“No it was her partner that was the shit stain, not the Sgt. She…” Samantha retorts with while chewing and then swallowing her food,” She was…well…”
Samantha looks up at the Man, Diane hands him a large brown bag. He grabs it by the bottom of the bag, the weight from the overstuffed containers within visible in the repositioning of his grip. Diane smiles back with that “pay me a good tip” boob giggle, leading the unobservant man to the cash register.
“Look, she knew he was doing that bullshit, probably since before he extorted that first drug,” says Gabrielle as she takes another bite of food before continuing, “fuck she probably smelled the ‘predator’ on him. Given her history of domestic violence.”
“I’m not saying she was ignorant, but I still think she was innocent,” Marilyn replies while dipping her sausage in the yoke of her egg,” I never agreed with knowledge being equal to guilt But, the nosey cunt just HAD to show up on her day off…THAT is her own damn fault…I bet she was working for Internal Affairs too! Snitch bitch.”
Marilyn and Gabrielle continue their argument while Samantha and Trevor remain focused on the man with his brown bag. Diane cashes him and smiles at him when he gives her a respectable tip for his order. The pair wave in unison at Diane, giving the internationally recognized “Check Please!” sign with their left hands and wrists. Diane shoots a wink with the pointing of a finger gun combined into a half smile that Samantha has learned deserves a smile and nod of approval in response. She applies society’s lessons and receives a lingering glance of sexual desire.
Trevor and Samantha exchange stares and shrugs before looking up at the man. He stands in the door way, checking his phone’s contents then he pauses. He pauses mid scroll of his thumb and looks up directly at Samantha. Prey has spotted predator. Panic drips off his forehead mixed with the salty stink of his sweat. The moment ends faster than it began with his attention back on his phone, responding to the flashing light of a new message. Diane approaches with requested receipt as the man scurries out of the diner’s exterior door.
“Do you want some containers for what you got left, hun,” ask Diane with slight despair after surveying the mess she will have to clean up.
Food is scattered across the table top. On each of the plates Diane brought over earlier are piles of food leading towards Samantha’s area of the booth. Samantha looks up at Diane with a seductive grin and her best bedroom eyes, her left hand having disappeared into the pocket of her tight black jeans. As her right hand swiftly pulls down the front of her V neck shirt, the motion pushing up her ample DD Cup bosom, her left appears with a crumble up bill. Diane retrieves it, unfolds it and her eyes widen in speculation upon seeing that it is $100 bill.
“Is this fake,” Diane ask with a laughing tone that almost betrays the truth of her question, “I mean this will mos def take care of your bill and then some!”
“No container and I will pay with my debit card as always,” Samantha replies, reaching for her coat and sliding out of the booth to stand almost on top of Diane.
Samantha towers over the 5’1’ waitress, 5’3” with her tennis shoes on, even if she is only 5’10” herself. Diane can’t control herself as she breathes in deeply of Samantha’s sent, a combination of her own customized sent and the intoxicating pheromones given off during sex or during a kill. Diane, the natural submissive, looks up at Samantha as if she was her mistress; their eyes locked as Samantha bends down at the waist to whisper in her ear. Samantha’s hot breath on Diane’s neck causes the latter to hold her lungs still.
“It’s for the credit card receipt you are already holding in your apron,” Samantha whispers into the pale shell of Diane’s ear, “Just give it to me and I will satisfy every desire you have of finally sampling the flavors of this world famous pussy.”
Samantha straightens like a pin up doll, putting on her jacket while remaining the same distance from the blushing and enthralled waitress. Diane’s hands disappear into her apron and quickly produce the desired slip of white paper. Hesitation overcomes Diane. Samantha grabs Diane’s folded hands, pulls her close and kisses the waitress deeply. The welcomed embrace of the locking of lips and the exploring of tongues, allows Samantha the ability to retrieve the receipt from Diane’s hand as her arms go limp. Samantha releases the star struck woman. Diane lingers for a second, her lips kissing the air previously occupied by Samantha’s mouth. Her eyes now open, the waitress looks around to notice a good chunk of the customers and staff is staring after witnessing the exchange.
Samantha checks the paper. Happy with the results, Samantha slides past Diane allowing her breasts to glaze over her arm. Once clear, Samantha slaps Diane hard on the butt, the resounding noise drawing the rest of the diner’s attention. Diane jumps from the slap and rubs her sore flesh, gazing longingly at Samantha as the hostess does her best to quickly process her bill. A proud smile is plastered on Samantha’s face as eyes are on her, but her quick glances are reserved for Diane. Each smirk out of the corner of Samantha’s eye sends shivers of desire along her nervous system.
With her receipt in hand, Samantha checks it one last time. Satisfied, she nods at the hostess who looks at her with disgust. Samantha leans against the glass door leading out of the diner and looks to Diane; typing on an imaginary keyboard and mouthing the words “email me” before flicking her quickly between her index and middle fingers with her tongue at her. The gasps and quick foot falls of a blushing Diane running off of the floor are the exiting sounds for Samantha.
Joseph P. Hutchinson
Joseph P. Hutchinson is the resident screenwriter and author with Cooked People Media, a multi-media firm specializing in novels, cartoons, comic books and screen plays. After years of working as a ghost writer, JPH is now striking out on his own, creating art for himself and his company.