Necro Files: Two Decades Of Extreme Horror Part 29

The officers were at his front door talking to Carrie when Dennis approached his home. Carrie saw him and he could tell by the look on her face that she was worried and confused. "They're here to see you, Dennis."

Dennis tried to act casual. "What can I do for you, officers?"

The officers stepped off the porch and approached Dennis. They were around his age, both of them slim, nice-looking men, a blonde guy and an African-American cop. "We got a call that you're dealing in illegal p.o.r.nography," the African-American cop said.

Dennis almost exploded. He looked at his wife briefly and motioned for the cops to huddle close to him so he wouldn't have to talk so loud. "Look, I don't know who called you about that, but it's bulls.h.i.+t, okay? If this has to do with work, and I'm sure it does, some a.s.shole planted some s.h.i.+t on my computer and got me fired for it!"

The African-American cop cleared his throat. "Um, excuse me, sir, but we realize the allegations against you probably are trumped up, but still ..."

Dennis looked at the officers with numbing horror. "You mean ..."

"Do you mind if we look around a little bit?"

Dennis was just about to say no when an alarm went off in his head. To say no now would only spell trouble down the road. They'd get a search warrant and he might not be able to get the tapes out of his safe. If he let them poke around they might not even see the safe, much less ask to see what was inside. Ditto on his briefcase. He sighed. "Go ahead."

As the two officers poked around his living room, he herded Carrie into the kitchen. Carrie's eyes were wide and scared-looking. "Dennis, what's going on?"

He told her. Not about his recent Internet activities, nor his deviant p.o.r.nography addiction, but about his being fired from his job. He told her Bob Lansing had been out to get him for a long time now, and that he was fairly sure Bob had gotten that information planted on his computer. Carrie swallowed the story, hook, line, and sinker. "And now he's trying to get you arrested? Why, that's outrageous!"

"I know," Dennis said, his voice low and trembling. It just occurred to him that whoever had complained about him at work was now anonymously calling the police. Whoever it was, they wanted to get him bad. "And that's why we're going to fight this thing tooth and nail."

The police didn't search for very long. After poking around the living room, the den, and his study and bedroom for a few minutes, they emerged looking sheepish. "Sorry to have troubled you, Mr. and Mrs. Hillman."

"No problem," Dennis said, seeing them out the door.

By the time he stowed his briefcase away and began to undress, Carrie was getting steamed about the whole incident. "I can't believe somebody would stoop so low just to have you fired. That's outrageous! I bet it was that Bob Lansing; he's been envious of you ever since you got that position. I wouldn't put it past him to come up with something like this. In fact-"

Dennis grinned as he changed into casual clothes. As long as he had Carrie believing him, he was home free.

The following day he left the house dressed in usual business attire. With Carrie knowing he was now unemployed, it would be easier to keep odd hours. Giving her the illusion he was job hunting was his chief source of cover. She left at her usual time this morning, carting the kids to school on her way to her job as an executive secretary, while Dennis dressed and made phone calls to prospective employers. When they were gone, he went to his study and extracted the rape tape and placed it in his briefcase. Then he left the house.

Harvey Ponozzo had left a message on his cell phone last night and instructed him on where they were to meet today to make the drop-off for the tape. Dennis returned the call late last night, telling Harvey he would be there, and now as he made the drive to Colorado Boulevard, looking for Phan Liquor store, he hoped to have all this swept under the rug as soon as possible. Get Harvey the tape, then he could resume his life. He was positive he could get a new job soon and when he did, he wasn't going to look at a p.o.r.n magazine or website ever again. In fact, he was going to expand his job search and consider positions out of state. The further away he could get away from Los Angeles, the better.

He made the drop-off quickly. Harvey was waiting for him in his silver Mercedes and Dennis handed him a brown paper bag containing the tape. "I'll call you later this afternoon," Harvey said, starting his car. He pulled out of the parking slot and Dennis went back to his car, feeling as if a heavy burden had been suddenly lifted from him.

The rest of the day would have gone smoothly except for one thing.

Harvey Panozzo never called him.

Dennis began to worry about it that evening as he feigned normalcy in the den. Carrie was watching the evening news. The kids were ... well, who knew where the kids were this time of the evening. Dennis made a half-hearted attempt at getting his resume updated and actually visited a p.o.r.nography addicts support group on the Internet. He'd been thinking about his actions all afternoon, and how they'd affected his job and his life. He was finally coming to terms that he had a problem and he had to face it, deal with it, correct it. He still didn't want Carrie or the kids to know about it, and he hoped that keeping it away from them while secretly trying to conquer his problem would do the trick. He still had to stay away from the stuff. He hoped Harvey Panozzo didn't call him back.

"How'd the job search go today?" Carrie asked from her spot on the sofa.

"Good," Dennis lied, rustling the paper. "I updated my resume, made a few phone calls. I'm hoping to get at least one interview by next week."

"Think you'll have something by then?" Carrie looked concerned. "Our house taxes are going to be due pretty soon. With Wendy's college tuition coming up in Fall, it's going to be kinda tough."

"We'll be fine," Dennis said. s.h.i.+t, he thought. He'd completely forgotten about the G.o.dd.a.m.n taxes. Without a job to cover him, Wendy's college tuition was in jeopardy. The money he had in the bank was already earmarked for it. The house taxes would eat all that up.

"Are you sure?" Carrie was looking at him with concern.

Dennis smiled. "We'll be fine, honey. I promise."

He told himself that over and over all night until he was convinced things would be fine. And they would be. He was sure of it.

Harvey called him the following morning.

"How'd you like to make some money?" Harvey asked.

Dennis was sitting at his desk in front of his computer. He had just updated his resume and printed ten copies on nice bond paper. The Los Angeles Times Employment section was spread out in front of him and he'd circled five job descriptions that appeared to match his skills and educational background. "Doing what?" he asked. He was immediately suspicious.

"Don't worry, it's legit."

"I think I can find a new job on my own," Dennis said. "Thanks for the offer of help, though."

"I want to help," Harvey continued. "Like I told you a few days ago, we prefer our members be professionally employed. That includes being able to network with us, allow us to help each other."

"I don't think I'm interested," Dennis said. "In fact, I've changed my mind about the group. I no longer want to be a member."

"You have three more tapes in your house," Harvey said. "The police didn't find them yesterday, but they will if they make another visit. While possession of b.e.s.t.i.a.lity films are only punishable by a small fine, possession of a necrophilia film will probably carry a murder charge."

"What are you talking about?" Dennis felt his stomach drop. My G.o.d, did Harvey call the police and have them search my house? Did he get me fired from my job? If so, how?

"The film," Harvey continued. "The one showing that guy s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g corpses. They're murder victims, Dennis. Unsolved murders, I might add. The man in the videos is a hardcore junkie like you who's a necrophile. Surely you don't want your wife-your children-to know that you're a-"

"I don't have any such film in my safe," Dennis stammered.

"You do now, and it's not in your safe. It is in your study, though. When you were gone yesterday, one of our operatives broke into your home and planted it."

Dennis felt all the spit dry up in his mouth.

"Go ahead and call the police and tell them about us if you want to," Harvey purred. "They won't be able to prove the group exists. The tape will have your fingerprints on it. We can arrange it so that the evidence of murder points to you. And with your ... unique tastes in p.o.r.nography, you could be in jail for a long time, Mr. Hillman."

"What do you want?" Dennis felt his entire body go slack with shock. He felt totally helpless.

"All we want is your cooperation," Harvey continued. "Your members.h.i.+p in the group. You're one of us now. We're here to help you. Stray from us, we have to risk exposure. We can't afford that. Surely you understand our concerns for security, don't you Mr. Hillman?"

"Y ... yes," Dennis stammered.

"I'm calling you from my cell phone. I'm parked right outside your house. I expect to see you walk out your front door in fifteen seconds. If I don't see you, I call the police and alert them to the location of the tape."

"Wh ... why ..."

"When you exit your home, you will walk to my car and enter the front pa.s.senger side," Harvey continued. "I will take you to the job I've mentioned. Do you understand?"

Dennis didn't know what to say. His eyes darted around his study, trying to find something out of place, some clue that would tell him where the tape was planted.

"Dennis?"

"Yes?"

"Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes."

"Good. Fifteen seconds, Mr. Hillman. From the time I hang up. I'm hanging up now. I expect to see you shortly." The line went dead.

Dennis was up and out the study in a flash. He grabbed his wallet and keys and left the house, locking it behind him, and headed down the front walkway and saw Harvey's silver Mercedes parked at the curb across the street. He walked around the front of the vehicle, feeling the dread build inside, entered the car and sat down in the front pa.s.senger seat. Harvey started the vehicle and pulled away from the curb. "Good," Harvey said as he drove out of the neighborhood. "I'm glad you came out."

"Why are you doing this?" Dennis asked.

"I want to help you," Harvey said as he piloted the Mercedes out of the neighborhood. He headed toward the 210 Freeway. "Relax. You'll be well taken care of."

Dennis found it hard to relax. He kept thinking, what did I get myself into? as Harvey took the 210 into the foothills of the San Gabriel mountains. Harvey's demeanor was casual and laid back. He was dressed in casual business attire-tan slacks and a white polo s.h.i.+rt. The interior of the Mercedes was spotless. For the first time, Dennis wondered what Harvey did for a living.

"What do you do for a living?" Dennis asked, trying to sound casual.

"I'm in the insurance industry," Harvey said. He kept the car at the speed limit. "I'm just a corporate drone like yourself. That's all."

"What's this job you told me about?"

"You'll see."

Forty minutes later Harvey pulled the car up to a ranch-style house nestled in a small valley deep within the San Gabriel mountains. He turned off the engine and got out of the car. "Come, follow me," he said.

Dennis followed, still wondering what this was about. He'd managed to get Harvey to admit that the work in question was for a fellow member who needed a database built of various hardcore p.o.r.nography media. "We're building a lending library," Harvey had said. "It's still in the early stages, but neither of us have the time to build something sophisticated. That's why you're here."

"And you'll pay me?" Dennis asked. Despite how things were shaping up, he still felt a trifle nervous as he followed Harvey to the front walkway.

"Of course," Harvey said. He unlocked the door. "Perhaps we can get you to make some money at this as well. How would you like that?"

"I don't know," Dennis said.

"If you had an opportunity to make twenty-five grand s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g a dead chick, you wouldn't do it?"

"I just like to watch," Dennis said. "I don't want to actually do these things."

"Ah! You're merely the customer, right?"

Dennis shrugged. "I guess."

"Wonderful!" Harvey grinned. "Come this way, Mr. Hillman."

Harvey led Dennis through a large foyer to the rear of the house. Dennis could hear the sound of a television and he saw the flickering light of the screen spilling in the shadowed room. Whatever was playing it was either a horror movie of some kind or- Dennis stopped at the threshold of the room as the image on the large screen TV rolled on. What appeared to be the elderly woman from the necrophilia film was being brutally beaten by two masked men. Her cries of pain were real, genuine. Dennis could tell that the minute he laid eyes on the film. He turned to look at Harvey and as he did so, his eyes rested on two figures lying on the floor like large, bloated lumps. Dennis took a step forward and recoiled, his stomach roiling as he saw that the figures were two adult dead males. They were naked, their bodies livid and white. Dennis noticed one had a small hole in the center of his forehead. His eyes were half-open, the lids like droopy shutters. Dennis took an involuntary step backward. "Hey, look, I don't think this is-"

"You don't think this is what, Mr. Hillman?" Harvey stood at the threshold to the large den, smiling. The old woman on the large screen TV screamed in pain as something horrible happened to her.

Dennis turned to Harvey, his heart racing. "Those guys ..." He couldn't finish what he was going to say.

"Are dead. Yes, I know that Mr. Hillman. I thought that's what you liked."

"I'm not gay," Dennis said quickly. He wanted to get the h.e.l.l out of here, but something kept him rooted to the spot.

"Of course not," Harvey said. "Andy Wilkes, one of the dead men you see there, was very much into young men, though. Take a look at the other one. Surely you'll recognize him."

A spike of fear dripped down Dennis's spine as he took another look at the bodies. One of the bodies was that of a fat middle-aged man with thinning gray hair. He looked familiar ... vaguely familiar. He looked like the type of guy who'd be ...

Dennis put a hand to his mouth to hold back the scream. "Oh my G.o.d! That's Carl Grossman!" His knees threatened to buckle and Dennis leaned against the wall.

"Yes, that's Mr. Grossman. He was the supplier. Nice that we have all three of you here, don't you think? Customer, supplier, and the manufacturer."

Dennis looked at Harvey. He was shaking so badly. "Wh-wha-what are you talking about?"

Over the agonizing screams of the old woman on the screen, Harvey continued. "Almost twenty years ago my mother and son were kidnapped. My son was only eight years old. They were never found. I looked everywhere; the police, the FBI, they looked everywhere. I used every available resource I could. I became so obsessed with their disappearance that my wife left me. There was no sign my mother took my son and changed their ident.i.ties. There were signs that they were taken against their will, though. A witness reported that on the last day they were seen, two men were observed talking to my mother and son at Alondra Park in Gardena. My mother was a very accommodating, very helpful woman. This same witness saw my mother and son walking with the two men out to the parking lot. Perhaps they told her they needed some kind of help. We'll probably never know. Needless to say, they disappeared from that park. My mother's car was found still parked there without a trace of them. Later, much later, about thirteen years ago while chasing down a lead, I came across this tape." He motioned toward the TV screen. One of the masked men was cutting the old woman's throat while another one forced a small boy, who appeared to be eight or nine years old, his face red and wet from crying, to watch.

"Don't ask me where I got it," Harvey continued. He reached into his slacks pocket and pulled out a gun. He pointed it at Dennis as he continued. "To make a long story short, I did more research and found out my son later died. He'd been held as a s.e.x slave for a group of perverts and eventually ran away. He was so scarred, so traumatized, that he became insane. He was tracked down by this ring of pedophiles and perverts and again abused horribly for profit." Harvey picked up Dennis's rape tape from the top of the large screen TV. "Your tape, Mr. Hillman. You have the only copy. My son's suffering was made for your pleasure. You paid to watch my son suffer!"

"No!" Dennis said. "I swear, I didn't!"

Harvey's face was twisted with rage and grief. "I've waited a long time for this ... to get back at the people responsible for this ... this filth! It took me years to track down Carl Grossman, but I did. I got him, and I got the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who killed my son, and now I've got the sonofab.i.t.c.h who paid for it." He pointed the gun at Dennis.

"Please ..." Dennis stammered. "Y-Y-you don't want to ... to ... d-d-do this!"

"Sure I do," Harvey said, his grief suddenly as gone as fast as it came, his face erupting into a sick smile and then he pulled the trigger.

The .38 caliber slug tore into Dennis's head, ejecting brain and bone into the wall behind him. The force of the shot propelled Dennis back and he slumped against the wall, eyes opened and glazed. Harvey watched as Dennis's dead body rolled over and beat a convulsive tattoo on the carpeted floor before finally stopping.

Harvey knelt down and felt for Dennis's pulse. Except for the dwindling sound of the dying woman's screams coming from the snuff film on the TV, the house was silent.

Harvey grinned. He felt good. Wonderful. He never thought it would have felt so great, so fulfilling, so powerful! He stood up and replaced the revolver in his front pants pocket. He turned the VCR off with the remote control and rewound the tape and began making preparations for the owner of the house to arrive. According to his research, they were due back home in about three hours. Harvey had already set up all the video cameras at strategic places in the house, and he would turn all of them on with one flick of the remote when it was showtime. Then, he would wait for them to walk in and welcome them home, all four of them: mother, father, two adorable kids. Then they'd have some fun. He was looking forward to it now that he'd gotten warmed up. And getting warmed up was important. He'd gone through this stage with Carl, Alan, and Dennis to make sure he had the stomach for it. It was one thing to watch this s.h.i.+t everyday for the past twenty years; it was quite another to actually cross the line and do it.

Marveling at how well his fabricated story about his mother and son had gone over with Dennis Hillman, Harvey Panozzo made sure all the weapons were ready. Then he sat down in the darkened living room and waited.

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