Miami was…pretty boring.
I’m just kidding, I had a blast. It was the most relaxing and refreshing nine days I’ve had in a long time. No fears, no stressors, just sun and murder. To be honest, I wasn’t really planning on the murder but if it happened then I’d roll with it; and it happened.
I called the boys when I landed and they seemed to be fine. No police sirens in the background, no code words for “save me”. James assured me that I had nothing to worry about. He’d make sure Jason went to class, and went to work, and ate, and slept while maintaining a safe distance since he’s almost an adult and quote: “doesn’t need his parents monitoring his every move.”
There is a difference between understanding my son – I was his age…not that long ago – and actually turning that understanding into a strong, working parent/son relationship.
But back to Miami.
The hotel I booked was on the beach but suspiciously cheap. Last minute vacations do require some sacrifice of comfort, I accept that. It wasn’t a horrible hotel, just not what I would call “luxury.” I stayed at a hotel on the beach because I planned to spend as much time there as possible but I still expected my hotel room to be nice. It was cold and cramped; they served one meal a day which resembled what a cheap Eastern-European grandmother might serve: filling but tasteless. Every day it was cold cuts, fruit and veggies, and some kind of unidentified warm sausage. Thank god for take-out. The worst part of the entire hotel experience is that I was the youngest guest.
Suddenly the menu choice makes so much sense.
Don’t worry, I didn’t kill any guests while I was down there. Too much work. Do you know how messy murder is? I mean once they’re dead? You lose all bodily control. Everything gets released. In a healthy body, that’s pretty gross, but in a wrinkled, decaying body? It’s…
I don’t want to think about it.
I am never getting old.
I didn’t plan on spending much time in the hotel so I tried not to think about what awaited me at the end of every night. I had a whole area to explore anonymously with nothing but sun, sand, and ocean all around. How could it be any better than that?
On the third day I recruited one of the night auditors – we’ll call him Francis – who made the mistake of asking: “how can I help you?” He saved my chair on the beach, bought me drinks, rubbed lotion on my back – I don’t think the man slept between his nightly duties and caring for me, I’m forever impressed. And then I asked him to bring me a vacationer who looked lonely. I figured if I didn’t have to hunt, I wouldn’t. Vacation means no work.
An hour later, Francis brought me a man, about thirty, who’d clearly been day drinking. He was here for a business conference but decided to ditch it in favour of actually enjoying himself. I promised him “real enjoyment” if he came back to my hotel later. Such an easy mark. I gave him the wrong information and we ended up in the alley between two hotels further down the boardwalk than my hotel. Fifteen minutes later, the drunk business man was head first in a dumpster with his throat slit and his wallet missing. Like I said, such an easy mark.
For the next two days, Francis brought me three more beach-goers who were just begging to be targeted. All of them were dead by the end of the day. All with their wallets missing.
By then, my unwitting accomplice had figured out what was going on and I was going to offer to pay him but he said he wanted to help. So I included him in more of the process. I taught him how to choice his victims – we started with easy tourists – and how to lure them away from crowds and vary his method just enough that the police wouldn’t catch on right away.
That may sound like work but it’s not a hassle when it’s something you love. I got to pass on my wisdom to someone genuinely interested and I got free drinks and prime beach real estate. How is that not a vacation?
Francis was a very good listener, he did everything I told him to. He even took my suggestion of taking their wallet as a souvenir – especially since it would make identification easier and create a fake motive for the police to follow. Such a proficient accomplice.
Of course as he drove me to the airport, I had to kill him and make it look like a suicide while planting all those wallets in his glove box so the murders could be blamed on him but he will be missed. It’s been so long since I’ve had someone I could talk to about my craft outside my family.
But speaking of family: I missed my boys. Not enough that I’ll never need a vacation from them every once in a while, but I do admit to getting a little home sick in my last few days. I’ve had my time away, and now I’m back home, in my own territory; where I belong.
As always, dear readers,