The Bayou Katt Murders

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Chapter 11

On the second day, the Bible informs us, God created the heavens, and separated the waters above and below it. Whereas, on the second full day of Katt Hall’s return to her ancestral lair, a heaven was being created between the Big Katt and her beloved Spud, whilst for others, they had descended into what might only be considered hell.

“Another barbaric slaying. How in the world did he elude you?”

“I got caught -- stuck in traffic. And this guy is smart -- he hid the vehicles off the road.”

Meantime, the morning gazette was spread out on the chief’s desk, with lurid photos of a headless Horace Hazelton.

BIG KATT PURSUER CLAIMS SECOND VICTIM - OLD BOYFRIEND BEHEADED IN BROAD DAYLIGHT.

“This looks swell. And wait till the Smakes thing breaks. Here’s mud in your face, a big, fat, stinking mud pie. We have GOT to stop this maniac. Who’s left on the list?”

“George Lesslie.”

“And where’s Big George now?”

“Bowl-O-Rama. He works there.”

“Get on him.”

“He’s been under surveillance.”

“And about Peterson. Someone said he had left town years ago.”

“It’s been confirmed.”

“It better be. Did you get a make on the car tracks at the crime scene?”

“Guy was driving a truck. But we can’t make the year or model.”

“Great.”

Up at the Great House, Katt Hall was mortified by what she saw in the papers.

“Oh Daddy, this is dreadful. Arthur Smakes, tortured and shot. Why in the world are all of these boyfriends of mine being slain?”

“They are simply dying for love, honey, get the joke? A noble sacrifice, I might add, even if whoever is doing this is obviously a deranged fiend. Oh, what men will do to get near Katt Hall. Now you come right over here and sit on your Daddy’s knee.”

“Oh Daddy, you dirty old lecher. I’ll do no such thing. And Daddy, I am worried about Spud. Eventually this maniac is going to come after him.”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ve given thought to hiring a private detective agency to keep both of you safe from this jerk. By the way, how’s the breeding coming along?”

“Daddy, you make me feel like livestock.”

“You are live, honey, I don’t doubt that. Never forget the good Lord put us on this earth for, among other things, breed-ing purposes. Now those glorious thighs of yours are going to yield up offspring, honey, or the House of Hall will come tumbling down.”

“We could adopt, Daddy.”

“Adoption is not an option, baby. The Hall bloodlines are too precious to entrust to the offspring of those perhaps less fortunate. There are too many genetic monstrosities out there these days to inspire faith. No, Daddy will not accept impostors, baby. He will accept nothing less than the original Hall gene matrix.”

“Even if, at times, it may seem kind of warped?”

“Oh baby. The Halls will always be the pride of Baton Rouge, and at the top of the social register. Now you get up there and get that stallion ready to go to work in his stall.”

Adelaide Hall entered the room.

“Look here, honey,” Josephus said. “Our baby has made the headlines again.”

“Oh dear,” she said.

“Don’t you worry, mama, they’ll get this man, you’ll see. I nudged Spud out of bed an hour ago, Daddy. I don’t know what his trouble is.”

And as the Big Katt headed up the winding stairs to rouse her husband, elsewhere, in a diner in town, the stranger occupied a booth, and he was poring over those selfsame morning newspapers. He smiled and chuckled to himself. Poor headless Horace Hazelton. Not to worry, though, that head of Horace’s was safely preserved, wrapped neatly in a gunny sack, and tonight he would present it to the mojo man in hopes that he could shrink it down. A shrunken head -- a triumphant token of his continuing success in eliminating the competition on the road to the beloved object of his affection -- one Katt Hall.

I’m coming, baby, he thought to himself, and we shall be as one again. Little did it seem to concern him that he was cutting a mighty bloody swath in reaching that goal.

No one would ever touch the Katt again, no one but him. Her golden purity, her beauty, the sacredness of all she represented -- the very pinnacle of womanly beauty. And he, the stranger, was the only one who deserved to possess such beauty.

Now he turned his attention to his next victim -- George Lesslie, and the planting of a curse on Spud. He got a chill of excitement on both counts. Lesslie would meet the same horrid fate as the others, he’d see to that, and then he would eliminate Spud and seize his splendid and wonderful Katt in his arms once again.

Yes, Lesslie had to go. He got up from his booth, left a small tip, and paid the cashier. He figured it might just be a good time to try a line of bowling or two. He knew just the person to rent him his bowling shoes, the person he wanted to meet and study for purposes of stalking. Big George Lesslie, meet the stranger. The stranger with the friendly smile and handshake, but with the shrewd, discerning eyes, who would size you up. Yes, meet the stranger, and fail to underestimate him just the way the others had. Meet your maker, Big George, and sooner than you think.

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