I have discovered something about myself I did not think I would, I am not good at writing about a murder, the detailed parts of it, as you will see by the following chapter from my “work in progress”.  I have struggled with this chapter for about 3 months, leaving it, coming back to it, tweaking, twisting, turning, and I still feel I am far from finished.  Of course it needs some editing, but just what I have now seems somewhat lacking for me.  The character portrayed here is one of my bad guys.  He is in Port-au-Prince Trinidad, and has found a prostitute willing to do his bidding, so he thinks.  It is a bit long, I apologize, but if you have a moment please take a read and let me know if I am 20 percent or 80 percent or never gonna get there.  Oh, some adult content so proceed with caution.  Thanks.

The crumpled napkin in his hand, an address scratched out in barely legible writing by the man from the bar.  Smiling to himself Paterson pointed to a street corner as the rickety taxi pulled over to the side of the road.

“Here, drop me here”

Leaning over the back seat and stuffing a five in the cabbies outstretched hand, much more than the meter showed.  Reaching down remembering to take the small travel bag with him he slipped out of the cab.  The cabbie watched as the white man straightened his tall lean frame and shrugged as he pulled away.

Lighting a cigarette and taking a long hard drag, resisting the urge to cough as he let the smoke slowly out of his lungs.  The night was hot, very hot and Paterson knew he was perspiring, but he didn’t care, it was dirty and this place was all about dirty to him.  Walking a few yards to a side street, checking the napkin before turning and walking into the darkness, street lights were not common in this part of Laventille and the ones that were there rarely worked. 

Finding the address, he tossed his cigarette on the ground, grinding it out with his heel as he walked up the two steps to the front door.  The wooden door was covered with peeling and chipped paint, dirty, perfect.  Peterson rapped on the door hard with his knuckles, backing down one step as he waited.

The door creaks and opens just slightly, two small eyes peer out at Paterson.  The eyes penetrated his soul and he felt a chilled as they moved up and down his body before uttering a single word “money” as a small hand protruded from the crack in the doorway.

Paterson took two crumpled $20’s out of his pocket, he knew better than to bring a lot of money to this part of town and he knew that this was a princely sum.  Pushing the money forward to the small hand he watched as slender fingers grabbed the two bills and pulled them back into the building.  The door then creaked closed as Paterson could hear the unbolting of a lock and suddenly the door swung open and the hand reached out, gripping his and pulled him into the house.

Stumbling as he almost fell crossing the threshold, a small lamp in the corner barely giving off light, and next to the lamp stood a thin woman.  He eyed her up and down, probably about twenty he thought to himself.  She stood no more than five feet, probably shorter.  Looking at her frayed T-shirt he noticed her smallish breasts were unsupported but not sagging.  The slender hips were covered with a pair of tattered jean shorts and her legs were bare as were her feet.  French Creole he thought to himself, definitely not a Black or Indian and rare to find on this part of the island.  He began to wonder to himself why would she be here, but quickly put the thought out of his mind, he was here for a purpose, time to get on with it.

Starting to feel more at ease he quickly scanned the rest of the room.  Satisfied they were alone he began moving towards the woman, he reached out, his hand under her chin, lifting her head to look into her eyes “they say you are a Soucouyant, are you?”

A voice comes from her, not frail, not tiny like her body, but rich and demanding “no Dan, not a Soucouyant, much more than that”

Paterson was struck by her English, it was rare that you heard proper complete sentences in this part of Trinidad.  He felt a chill run down his spine as his fingers touched her face, her body unmoving as he stepped back, looking her over again. “I gave you 40 dollars, I want something special”

A grin appeared on the womans face, her lips parted and her perfect teeth radiated back at him.  She moved across the room to another door, opening it Paterson could see a bed, a dresser with nothing on it but a few towels and a pitcher of water.  “this way Dan, I have special for you”

Following her into the room as she closed the door behind them gliding towards the bed and undressing, her body glistened with a sheen of sweat from the hot evening, Paterson stayed dressed, watching her as she laid down on her back on the bed.  As she spread her legs he noticed that she was shaved, another unusual condition for this area.  He if she were a local, or from the mainland as he heard that a lot of hookers came over from Venezuela to feed off the tourist trade. 

Shrugging his shoulders in indifference thinking it didn’t matter, as long as she was up for what he wanted to do, as long as she would try to fight, to scream, to resist his advances and absorb the punishment she was about to receive.

Setting his bag on the end of the bed Paterson sat on the side of the bed next to her, his hand reached out and roughly caressed her chest.  Feeling her cringe at his first touch he smiled, oh yes, this one will fight, perfect.  His fingers gripped her nipple, pulling it hard, she let out a yelp and slapped at his hand, Paterson felt his excitement rise, yes, this is what he needed.   His free hand went to the bag, taking out the leather straps as he moved his body over hers, sitting on her stomach as she began to squirm, trying to toss him off.  Her legs bucking upwards, knees pounding his back, it just made him smile and press harder against her.

Leaning forward, taking her arm and wrapping a leather strap around her wrist and then around the bed rail, Her strength no match for his, he moved her arm as he wished, despite her efforts to stop him, he worked with surgeon like precision and speed and quickly had her two arms secured.  Reaching back behind him he took more straps from the bag, sliding his body down hers, being careful not to let the legs get free, she was half scowling half smiling at him as he thought to himself this was not the first time she had been tied.

That’s fine because he knew the rest would be her first time.  Securing her ankles to the foot rail of the bed Paterson finally arose and stood beside the bed.  Looking down at his bound victim, her thin body writing on the bed, partly for his benefit he was sure.  “More than a Soucouyant are you my little whore” Paterson liked this part, the taunting, the abusive language.

“Let me go Dan” the girl becoming a bit more frightened now, this one was different, he hadn’t even tried to fuck her yet.  “Please, let me go now Dan, I give you your $40, no problems please”

Paterson went to the foot of the bed, reaching again into the bag, taking out a short-handled cat of nine tails.  The leather-covered lead balls on the end of each tendril of leather strap weighed heavily in his hand, he walked to the head of the bed, reaching out, gripping her face in his hand, pulling her to his attention.

“Soucouyant or not, I am going to beat you my little whore, until you beg for more and only then will I think about stopping”

“No dan, no please” she cried, twisting a bit more frantically in her bindings now, looking into his dark, dead eyes. She watched as he lifted the cat over his head and then screamed with pain as the leather weights ripped across the flesh of her thighs, feeling the burn and sting, knowing she was bleeding as he lifted the cat again, his eyes still dark but a smile on his face, a wicked evil smile.  The cat struck again, she tried to bolt upright but her bindings were too tight, “ohhhhhhhhhh dan…..stop please stop ohhhhh dan you are killin me”

Paterson grinned, looking down at her, seeing the red welts on her thighs where each of the weights had scrapped over her, some of the wounds trickled blood, oh god how hard this made him, how excited he was to see this whore in pain. 

Moving upwards, the cat slashes across her flat stomach, howls of pain coming from her as she writhes on the bed, trying in vain to move out of the way of the whipping she is getting.

“Oh I see slut, you want more” he reached back into his bag and pulled out a one foot long tube.  Extending the telescoping sections out it became a solid, steel shanked riding crop.  The whores eyes grew even bigger as she saw what he had produced.  Through tear stained eyes she could see the huge tent in the front of his trousers, the bastard was fucking hard.  Looking down her body, seeing welts and rivulets of blood she knew this would not get better until it got a whole lot worse.

“Ede M se li ki touye m ‘” the woman cried out, Paterson in a blind of rage now as he raised and the crop over his head, he barely heard the door open as he was rushed by the huge black man, knocking him to the floor.  Patterson tried to push the intruder off him but he was no match for the bulk of a man who hovered over him, looking up Paterson saw the glint of metal in the weak light of the room, thinking to himself that it looked like a knife as the blade plunged into his neck.  Paterson’s eyes grew large just before everything became cloudy and faded a sting in his neck was the last thing he remembered as the life drained from him in the dingy room of a Laventille whore.

Towering over the thin man the black man pushed the knife into him over and over, blood sprayed the room.  Finally stopping the man stood up, kicked the body of the bastard once and then went to the bed, untying the woman.  The girl was frantic, speaking quickly in Creole, telling him to get the body out of here now, fast, that she didn’t want a dead white man found in her house, the local police would surely not believe her. 

Paterson’s body tossed over the shoulder of the black man as he headed out of the room.

“Wait” she called, then reaching into his pocket, fishing out his wallet “now go, get rid of him quickly” holding a towel to her stomach, trying to stop the bleeding from her lashing.

Sneaking out the back door and down the alley, the man watched around as shadows disappeared into doorways, every one trying not to notice the man carrying the body over his shoulder.  Two blocks away, an old cinder block outline for a dumpster, the black man lowers the body to the ground propping it up against the wall as he backs away, scanning around quickly one more time before jogging quickly past and out onto the barely lit streets of ghetto.