The Steel Kiss

But Unsub 40 had such a curious agenda and wielded such an odd weapon that it seemed he would have to do some homework a day or two or even more ahead of time to make sure he’d succeed with the murder.

Benkoff’s death, he thought grimly, might be the opposite of the Baxter case. There Rhyme had had too much evidence and had parsed it too carefully. Perhaps in the Unsub 40 situation he’d missed some clue in prior scenes that might have pointed to Abe Benkoff’s apartment as the site of a future attack. And he experienced that unnerving hollowness he’d felt when he learned of the businessman’s death. The uneasiness and, okay, guilt that had prompted his decision to end his career as a criminal forensic investigator.

This validated that decision. He couldn’t wait for this case to be done with. And he could get back to his life in the civil world—he smiled at the double-duty word—once more.

His phone hummed again.

Glancing at caller ID.

“Hello?”

“I saw the news,” Juliette Archer said. “The fire in Murray Hill. Stove malfunctioned. Was that our boy?”

“Looks like it. I was just about to call you. You free?”

“Actually, I’m on my way.”

* * *

Thinking about pain.

Breakfast in bed, just after waking, in Chelsea. I ate one sandwich—bologna, very underrated nowadays—and now am having another.

Six fifty a.m.

I’m tired after all the work last night. I tried to sleep in but couldn’t. Way too excited.

Pain…

Because of my recent endeavors, I’ve studied the subject. I’ve learned there are various types. Neuropathic, for instance, is when a nerve is struck or impinged upon (hitting your funny bone—oh, yeah, nothing funny ‘bout that, is there?). Not necessarily excruciating. More twitchy and irritating.

Then there’s psychogenic, or somatoform, pain. This comes from environmental factors and stress and some physiologic stimuli. Migraines, for instance.

But the most common in our daily life is called nociceptive. Fancy word, I think, for when you miss the nail with your hammer and squoosh your thumb instead. A couple of fine categories of nociceptive give connoisseurs like myself much to work with. I think of Todd Williams: blunt trauma impact. Or rending with a razor saw (I used that not long before). Another: Alicia’s radius bone sprouting through her flesh as her husband, dull from whisky, twisted and pulled.

And then there’s thermal nociceptive pain. Cold, yes. But the worst is heat, of course. Freezing numbs. Fire makes you scream and scream and scream.

I had a pretty good view of my victim’s last few minutes. I was watching him the whole time, from across the street, the roof terrace of a not-very-secure five-story walk-up. It was easy to see him through the large windows. Waking up, idiotically turning on the light on the bedside table—worried me there. Wasn’t sure at that point if there was enough gas in the place to do what I hoped.

But a moment later he was walking toward the door, then crawling.

At that point I was sure there was enough gas and—feeling a bit perverse—I flicked the switch when he was only ten or twelve feet from the door, safety well within his grasp.

Except it hadn’t been, of course.

A simple command through the cloud and the CookSmart Deluxe stove came to life. Eleven thousand dollars and change buys you a very responsive appliance.

And my victim turned into a shadow in the flames, twitching and staggering, and staggering still when the smoke enshrouded him, though I caught of glimpse of him rolling onto his back, quivering, and turning pugilistic with hands and legs up. I lost sight and the smoke flowed and flowed and flowed.

At least he got a few good meals out of the fancy oven.

The job done, I left and came back here, filled with robust satisfaction, for a bit of sleep.

The People’s Guardian will write another missive to the press later, reminding them that excessive consumerism is a bad thing. Blah, blah, blah. You don’t have to be too articulate and clever with your manifestos after you burn someone to death.

I roll from bed and, in my pajamas, sit groggy on the bedside, think of the busy day ahead.

I have plans for another poor Shopper.

Nociceptive pain…

There are plans for Red too. I know now all I need to about her habits, I think. It should be good. It certainly will be enjoyable to me, what I have planned.

I have some time, so I go into the Toy Room.