Troy's new story for discussion on 12/3

This seems to be a continuation of Troy's earlier story about Richard (the well-dressed man with his girlfriend in the oven). Enjoy!
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Shattered panes and shards
dappled moonlight and crumpled playing cards
carbon based entranced by the gleam of a carbide
regardless of city blocks
Oblivious to traffic patterns…

A montage spilt from the nickelodeon of Janine’s cerebral cortex, a Buster Keaton improv conducted courtesy of Richard and six inches of steel. This particular rendezvous ended up somewhere on the south side of town, by the docks; in what appeared to be the remains of an old gambling den. The dappled moonlight fell on Richard’s back as he crouched over Janine’s body using a fragment of her cashmere blouse to clean his knife. It was about six months to the day since Simone had been summarized into a pile of ash and bone dust. Six months to the day since Richard became serious about all this killing business, six months to the day since Richard walked outside of his flat to retrieve the newspaper and saw the Preacher AKA the crucifix coroner. That morning the sky was dripping blood and honey and Richard stared; for once in complete surprise as the Preacher smiled back beneath that wide brimmed hat of his…

Ace of Hearts Relinquished his feathery dress…
Richard strolls from the abandoned building and the wreckage of Janine’s body, his knife sheathed within leather boots that he preferred for such outings. These boots (imported from Europe) possessed and incredibly unique footprint, Richard was not afraid; then again tracks didn’t hold up so well on hefty bags. Richard removes the tortoise shell hair comb from his rear packet and attends his freshy greased pomadore and forelock, while simultaneously managing to light a cigar (also imported). This cigar possessing an exclusive blend of tobacco which can be forensically traced to a single vendor located on the cobbled alleys of Bologna. This cigar vendor maintains approximately 77 customers and maintains written logs of each individual (including current address, social security numbers, and contact information). As Richard drags on his cigar he considers the Preacher and what to do about two killers dancing in the dark, dancing in the same city. Perhaps Richard could take the lead this time, teach the Preacher a few new steps. Either way this was not a good situation for Richard or his victims. Richard WAS a killer, but he was a careful and considerate one at that. The Preacher…he was something all together different…

The snow falls and the wolves gather beneath the trees
“If you look carefully you’ll see that the body is a map of desire”. He says this beneath the faltering light and the snow. He works beneath the borrowed light of a Hotel sign, young Richard standing beside him dressed in an altar boys robe of virginal white, crucifix around his neck. The young Richard stood silent as the snow fell and watched as the knives of the Preacher went to work on his former Cub Scout leader who had lately attempted to molest him. Young Richard watched and prayed silently to himself as his robe was sprayed with blood, his heartbeat mimicking the alternating light of the HOTEL sign. When it was done the Preacher cleaned his knives on the snow. The Preacher then placed his hands on Richard’s shoulders, and wipes a smear of blood from the boys face. The Preacher looks the young Richard in the eyes; steam emanating from his mouth and says “My boy, there is nothing stranger than kindness”.

Pink Fingernails can be glossed over with a wink or two…
A tear rolls down Richard’s check, mingling with the smoke swirling in his car, the rain hammerin’ down on his carapace of steel, it was just a bit after dawn. Richard didn’t remember the evening passing by so quickly while he was psychologically steaming down the rails of pain and misery. As he crouched on the stoop of the abandoned building like some disheveled gargoyle, Notre Dame or Bust!. Left hand glued to the wheel, right currently adhered to a flask of Jack, tremblin all the while, and it wasn’t from the damp autumn air. Richard was a wreck, slave to his own validation about to face the vindication of a Preacher’s right hand. Those hands would be bearing the blades Gabriel and Michael (right and left respectively) and they always found their mark, one way or another.
Janine was dead sure enough, Simone disposed of, but Richard knew that the Preacher wouldn’t be satisfied with this thing, that’s what brought him here to Richard’s city in the first place, like so much tumble weed engulfed in flame, destined for the driest wagon wheel. If only the past 130 victims could be glossed over and thus bring the Preacher to some other errant lamb ripe for the slaughter. Richard takes a drag and steps on the gas, a bat out of hell headin’ back to the cave; he had to get ready…

Dear ,

Sometimes I seek to fill the silence that permeates this space
Reverberations of a tragic tonality drift from but one floor below
Loss of sanity is not so terrible a thing
Diagnose me with various ailments and study this case in particular
Pretend to possess doctorates and certifications
From fine institutions
You could by my physician who so easily rends my flesh
With both precision and skill: perform complex surgeries
Numerous improvements on a failed design
I could be beautiful if you wish
I could be hideous as a ghostly chandelier…
(Hope you’re watching)
-Note found outside of a tenement housing complex
(October, 1983)