It was a surprisingly simple thing to do. Find an empty two-bedroom house in a sparsely populated but upscale housing development and set up shop. Set up his gasoline generator in the garage and the computer in the spare room down the hall and have his thirteen-year-old “daughter“ with the same penchant for blood as he to expose herself on popular teen chat rooms and see who was willing to take the bait.
It didn’t take long to find willing participants. Precious didn’t have her top off in front of the camera before horny middle-aged men posing as even hornier teenaged boys were begging her for a good time.
And little Precious (her assumed name, of course) was always more than willing to oblige their fantasies. Precious enjoyed the attention. Moreso, she liked what came after. She got off on the game as much, if not more, than he did.
“Come on over,” she’d type as he; the ever doting daddy by proxy stood in the shadows just beyond the web cam’s sight. “I’m alone and I want you to be my first.”
And they’d come, oh yes, dragging their hardened little balls behind them.
That afternoon, fifty men contacted Precious, more than willing to play. A good catch, Charlie said. They kept eleven of the worst and sent the others, petty little losers that they were, packing. Shit, Charlie thought. I can’t kill them all in one night. Someone might notice. But eleven is manageable. Besides he reasoned. The others will be back. They always come back.
Precious gave her ‘gentleman’ callers the address to the vacant house and gave each one a different time during the evening to show up. The first one would come around suppertime (she laughed at her pun) and the last would come (again, more laughter) around 2 a.m. Plenty of time, Charlie said, to do what they had to and get out before morning.
Viable targets, Sarge, that’s all they are, Charlie thought as he leaned against the mahogany banister that gracefully curved around the second story landing. He checked the laser site, the scope, and made sure the silencer was in working order. After all, it’d be a shame if something went wrong. He loaded the chamber with 11 bullets. Yes, he chuckled. All I need is one bullet for each chat room freaky-deaky who steps through the door. He hummed to himself as he sited the tiled floor just in front of the den. Yeah, just call me your friendly public relations servant. I like exterminating human roaches.
He wasn’t doing it out of revenge. There was no son or daughter savaged by online pedophiles that made him want to kill. It was simply a good way to get his anger out on the world that abandoned him, who called him a baby killer back in the days of Nixon and Kent State. So there was a gruesome sense of irony at what he was doing. What’s a little vigilantism between friends, eh?
After all, what jury would convict a teary eyed father who had lost his mind after his beloved child had been ravaged by a monster posing in human form on the Internet? He’d literally get away with murder. Shit, he thought. I’d be a freaking hero.
But Charlie, the daddy by proxy wasn’t a noble man. He wasn’t even in it for the money, although someone several months ago had offered him a substantial amount of green to grease a fifty-year-old punk assed bitch that had a fondness for raping little boys.
Nah. He greased the fucker for free. Just another public service from what his Ranger buddies used to call One Drop Charlie.
Precious’ first gentleman caller was a man who called himself special88. Special88’s real name was Dave Giles from Orlando, Florida and was a sale representative for residential water treatment systems. He also had a fondness for deflowering little girls. His online profile motto read, “If you’re old enough to bleed, you’re old enough to breed. Lol.” The Lol is what got to Charlie. He wanted Special88 bad, (lol) and was thrilled when he was among the first to rise to the bait.
Precious had a knack for uncovering a person’s true identity. She began with their profiles, some of them stupid enough to put their private info on them. If that didn’t work, she’d seek out their ISP address. Search and destroy, that’s my little Precious, Charlie approved.
Special88 left a wide trail. He was dumb enough to put up a web page complete with web cam, his home address and phone number. Charlie wasn’t sure how she got more info off these men, but she was always able to find out a disturbing amount of information. Sometimes she found complete biographies, social security number and income tax info. Most of the time the added info it didn’t matter, but lately it did. He felt that it did, in some way, to know whom he was about to axe. Kinda like a trophy kill.
Charlie heard a scuffling sound coming from the garage. He went on alert. He smiled to himself. Special88 showed up, and on time no less. How punctual.
“Are you Special88?” Precious asked beyond the closed door.
“Are you alone?” Special88’s muffled voice asked.
“I am and I’m naked,” Precious called. “Since you’re standing in the garage, why not take your clothes off in there?”
“You’re an eager little thing,” Charlie could hear from his perch up on the landing. Special88’s voice was literally trembling in anticipation. He’s gonna cum all over the garage before he gets into the house, he thought.
“Are you sure you’ve never done anything like this before?” Special88 asked.
“No, never,” Precious was saying as she backed away from the door. “I’m just a little nervous. My parents are supposed to be home from the movies in a couple of hours.”
“Well, let’s get this party started!” Special88 said as he opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. His voice cheerful, his skin flushed with excitement, his penis tenting up his tidy whitey boxers as he trotted out of the kitchen and into the room just below the balcony.
“Okay,” Precious said, then smiling, she turned and ran from the room.
“Hey, what is this?” Special88 said, alarmed. “You’re not naked! Is this some kind of set up? Where’s the goddamned camera crew you little cunt!”
“Taint one!” Precious giggling voice echoed in the darkened aperture beyond the den.
Special88 moved toward the voice, and right into Charlie’s line of fire.
With that special, fluidic movement of a man used to taking out human targets, Charlie raised the weapon and pulled the trigger. There was a softened ‘ploof’ as the silencer deadened most of the sound. The back of Special88’s head collapsed inward like a ruptured melon left out to rot. In one clear shot by the ex sniper known as One Drop Charlie, Special88 was dead before he hit the floor.
And that’s the way Charlie liked it.
In 1968 One Drop Charlie was drafted into the army. He became an airborne ranger, was taught skills, and when the war ended, he was returned to an unsuspected public. A public he saw in two ways: as viable targets and as potential targets. After decades of knocking around from one greasy backwater town to another, One Drop Charlie decided he needed to take down a few of those viable targets. And as far as he was concerned, he did it in a healthy way. Every parent in the world should sing his praises.
By two in the morning, Charlie completed his last kill. Feeling better, and oddly vindicated, he and Precious finished stacking up the bodies in the rear of the house. They crammed the clothes in the dryer vent and set them on fire. Yeah, his generator and computer equipment would go up too--a geek’s nightmare—but that didn’t’ matter. He could get more as needed.
And as far as he was concerned, his skills were always needed.
“Where to next?” He asked Precious as they walked away from Miami’s shining lights out toward the marina, where they had a little boat waiting. Even in a place as big as Miami-Dade, it wasn’t a good idea to hang around for too long. Let ‘em think it was a random hit from an irate father, Charlie thought. That goes down better. Even if they figure out there are eleven bodies there, so what? In the end did it really matter how many perverts were taken out like dogs in the street?
“Providence, Rhode Island,” she said definitely. “I have a friend there. One who likes to chat on the Internet.”
“Is that so?” Charlie asked. His smile was sickly, indulgent. “Well, Rhode Island it is then.”
“Can I have pancakes?” Precious asked.
“Darling,” he said as they approached the marina’s landing “You can have anything you want.”
“I wanna be an Airborne Ranger,” she sang.
Causes Patricia Snodgrass Supports
The Hunger site
Children's Miracle Network
American Cancer Society
The American Heart Association