Sadistic genius has to find an outlet, and is there any better than manipulating and torturing a beautiful, smart, witty, woman who’s been horribly damaged by childhood abuse?
Penn Stone creates tabloid-worthy stories by luring former lovers to grisly deaths. Stories are the hallmark of civilization. So when he manipulates and kills, he does it for the sake of civilization. Besides, it’s fun. Beautiful, witty, and damaged, by the unspeakable things done to her when she was abducted at age eleven, Lucinda McConnell seems the perfect victim. To break her will, Penn expertly plays out a twisted scenario, but no longer the defenseless victim, she has other ideas.
The Powell-Hyde cable car runs north from a terminal at Powell and Market streets, crosses California Street at the crest of the hill, then coasts without the cable for three and a half blocks. Working under the cover of thick pre-dawn fog, Gaius poured a half gallon of low-viscosity OW-30 motor oil over the road for the last one and a half of those blocks.
By the time the sun had burned away the mist, a slick—oil covered by a thin film of water—ran from the trolley tracks to the curb.
Enter Tiffany Jones, racing down the steep hill on the Schwinn three-speed she’d gotten for her tenth birthday. Her surgically enhanced D-cups stood at attention.
“Hey, Tiff!” he shouted.
She turned toward him, her face bright. The bike hit the oil slick at a slight angle, slid sideways, and tipped over.
The cable car severed her right leg at the knee and turned the left one into dog food. She bled out in less than two minutes.
Gaius had bet the aspiring actress a thousand bucks she couldn’t beat the cable car on that downhill stretch, and his reminder that there’s no such thing as bad publicity inspired her outfit—black silk high-cut panties, an unzipped studded leather vest, motorcycle boots, a vintage German infantryman’s helmet, and lots of tan, gym-toned, goose-bumped skin. Although he won the bet, Gaius won’t try to collect from her estate. His art motivates him, not money.
Within minutes TV film crews and news reporters were crawling all over Tiffany’s corpse like maggots. A crowd gathered. Gaius nuzzled up next to a woman with a vulnerable shoulder bag and liberated her iPhone, latest model—perfect for sending to the media photos of Miss Jones’s luscious corpse, along with the video he took of the tragic accident. An excuse to display soft-core porn is the media’s wet dream, on a par with a small war or a big flood.