Joe Victim: A Thriller

It’s a short book and I’m a quick reader, but I still skim it because even though time is something I have plenty of, I feel an urgency to find Melissa’s message. I figure skim the books now, and if I miss the message then read them in detail later. So I find out Belinda’s fate, which is to marry a rich man who used to be a gigolo, but who was left ten million dollars by an old lady he used to service. It’s a timeless classic.

I’m halfway through another when shower time arrives. The group of thirty somehow separates itself into different social classes. They do it by the crimes they committed. They see some crimes as better than others. Healthier, I suppose. Somehow that makes them better people. I don’t know. It’s a strange world, but here I am living in strange times, where a guy can burn down a retirement home with twelve people inside and be treated like a king compared to somebody like Santa Kenny, who raped three children and got caught with a fourth. Lines are being drawn all over the place in this world and none of them make sense. I don’t know what lines to stand behind, which ones to cross. I’m in the serial-killer gang all by myself even though I’m not the only serial killer in here. Edward Hunter, he’s by himself too. He killed a bunch of people and people call him a hero because they were bad people, but that doesn’t set him free. Caleb Cole is in a group of one too. We should be forming a club. We should get T-shirts made up.

There is nothing fun about showering with other naked men—though, for some reason, my father’s voice pops into my head and tells me it doesn’t have to be that way. I’m not sure what he’s getting at—but his voice has popped into my head every other time I’ve stood naked in front of all these other men. It’s humiliating.

The showers are like gym showers, a large communal area with plenty of different sprays and lots of taps and plenty of tiles everywhere. It’s a concrete floor with a dozen different drains. The air is thick with steam and the water a little too hot and there are only a few cakes of soap to go around so we have to share, which is pretty awful when they get handed to you with the occasional pubic hair caked into the surface. A few minutes into the shower and suddenly the men immediately to my left and to my right move further to their left and right and I’m alone.

Then not so alone, as Caleb Cole comes up to me.

“I’ve made my decision,” he says.

The water is pouring down on us. Steam is rising. The air is thick and I feel a little light-headed. “And?”

“And I’m going to kill you,” he says, and his fist moves so quickly I don’t even see it happening, not until it hits me solidly in the stomach, knocking the air out of me and dropping me to my knees. Caleb takes a step back and cradles his hand against his chest and covers it with his other one.

“Hey,” one of the guards calls out, “what’s going on there?” he asks, but the steam is too thick for him to see that well and he’s too dry and lazy to really come and check.

“He slipped over,” Cole shouts out. “People slip in showers.”

I look up at him, but stay on my knees, which is not a great height to be at in a room full of naked men unless you’re a football player.

“Is that right?” the guard shouts back.

“Yeah,” I say. “I slipped.”

The guard doesn’t respond.

“As soon as I find something I can shape into a blade, I’m going to cut you open,” Caleb says, and he starts washing himself down while staring at me, the scars across his body disappearing behind lathers of soap. “What do you think about that?”

I think I need to find something sharp too.

“I can pay you,” I tell him. “Twenty thousand dollars.”

He stops soaping himself. He twists his head and his eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”

“To leave me alone,” I say. “I’ll pay you twenty thousand dollars and you can use that money to pay somebody to finish the job on the outside that you’re going to have to wait twenty years to do yourself.”

He slowly nods, the sides of his mouth turning down as he does. “Okay,” he says.

“Okay, you’ll take it?”

He shakes his head. “Okay, I’ll think about it,” he says. “Something like that is going to require a lot of thought.” He rinses off the soap. “I’ll let you know tomorrow,” he says, and then he disappears back into the steam and I’m left alone on my knees, wondering now what my chances are of even making it to trial.





Chapter Fourteen