Mangled Meat by Edward Lee Read Free Book Online Page B

coming to terms with last night’s jolt. Yet another competitor put it bluntly: “Leave Blocher and work for me. You can name your price.”
    At least I’m doing SOMETHING right, he thought.
    The hotel bar opened at noon; Heyton planted himself on the corner and braced himself with multiple cups of coffee. More competitors sat about him, eyes full of either envy or disdain for his success.
    Above the bar, a TV sputtered at low volume: generic news. The Yankees acquire a new pitcher for a record $500,000,000 ten-year deal. Four homeless shelters in the Bronx are closed due to budget cuts, turning hundreds into the street. Afghan insurgents level a children’s hospital with pilfered U.S. demolition material, over a hundred dead. Paroled child molester caught with the body parts of three adolescent girls under his trailer. A judge had released him after a second conviction, on good behavior.
    “Great news today,” Heyton muttered a sarcasm.
    A guy next to him perked up. “Oh, yeah, the new lefty for the Yanks! That is great news.”
    Heyton smirked.
    Next, a stoic newswoman who looked like a lobotomized Barbie reported: “Also in the news, Michigan’s self-described B-H-R Killer, Duane Packer, was sentenced today to 23 consecutive life terms after an Antrim County court heard forensic evidence detailing most of Packer’s victims. In the witness stand, Packer himself defined B-H-R as initials for ‘blind, hang, and rape,’ and claimed that his only regret was being caught, because, quote, ‘now the fun has to end,’ unquote. Expert witnesses from the county coroner’s office verified that Packer, a crystal meth dealer, would also inject his young victims with the powerful amphetamine so they wouldn’t pass out during his ministrations of torture. Further charges of post-mortal and peri-mortal sexual assault, child abduction, and felonious imprisonment will be processed later in the week. All of Packer’s victims were boys and girls between the ages of six and eleven.”
    “Only in America,” the barkeep remarked, pale with disgust.
    Next, the TV flashed footage of the killer being led from the courthouse. He could’ve been a stock broker with his well-groomed hair, tidy suit, and studied expression.
    “Can you believe that shit?” said the tech salesman next to Heyton. “He looks like any of us. He looks totally normal.”
    “Looks are deceiving,” said the keep.
    Another man said, “When you get right down to it, lots of people are never what they seem.”
    The words chased Heyton from the bar. The girl said the same thing, he recalled, and she wasn’t kidding. Indeed, people could look normal but could just as easily be monsters beneath their veneers of normalcy.
    Like her, Heyton thought. His stomach went sour.
    Soon, droves of high-ranking police filed in to the center—Heyton’s target customers. He wasn’t sure why, because he believed his previous self-assurances. She killed the kid, not me, became a cyclic fugue in his head. Of course, so many police made him paranoid, and they weren’t just police, either. Police chiefs. Indeed, the con center was full to the brim with them.
    Chiefs from every Florida city and township, chiefs from myriad counties, chiefs from sheriff’s departments, along with their technical liaisons.
    If they only knew, he thought, passing still more of them. If they only knew what happened to me last night...
    Even hours before the meeting’s official commencement, Heyton was approached by one chief after the next, wanting to know more about his system. “I heard damn near all of Texas bought it,” one said, “so it must be better than anything on the market.”
    “It is,” Heyton told him.
    He was about to start setting up his presentation material in the conference hall when it occurred to him that he was the star of the day. The competitors beside him were outright cold now, knowing their own pitches would go ignored, but at Heyton’s place at the table a line