More Twisted

girl, with a small bandage over her forehead and a blue cast on her ankle and another on her wrist, stepped shyly to the microphone. Blushing fiercely, she started to say something, but her throat caught. She started over. “Like, I just want to say, you know, thanks to everybody. I was pretty freaked. So, you know . . . uhm, thanks.”
    Her lack of articulation didn’t stop the crowd from exploding in applause and cheers once again.
    Then the chief introduced the girl’s parents. The businessman, in a blue blazer and gray slacks, stepped forward to the microphone, while his wife, beaming a smile, put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders.The businessman thanked the fire department and police for their heroic efforts, and the citizens of the town for their support.
    “But my deepest appreciation goes to the man who risked his life to save my little girl. And as a token of that appreciation I want to give him this.” The businessman held up a framed, three-foot-long mock-up of a check for $500,000. “Which represents the sum I’ve ordered deposited into his account.”
    More raucous applause; large sums of money, just like rescued youngsters, are guaranteed crowd-pleasers.
    Gilbert added, “Please join me in thanking . . . Mr. Greg Langley.”
    A brace on his neck, a bandage on his hand, the rescue specialist walked slowly to the podium, limping. He seemed agitated, though Ron guessed it had less to do with the pain from the injuries than his impatience with hokeyness like this. He took the big check and passed it quickly to his assistant.
    Tonya’s father continued, “What he did took great personal courage and sacrifice. Even after being buried in a cave-in and nearly killed, Mr. Langley continued to crawl to the tunnel where our Tonya was trapped and got her to safety. You’ll have the gratitude of our family forever.”
    The crowd seemed to want a speech but all Langley said was an impatient “Thanks a lot.” He waved and left fast—on to more rescues and more rewards, Ron assumed. He felt a burst of regret he’d only brained the guy when he’d simulated the cave-in and hadn’t caused more serious damage; he definitely deserved a broken wrist or jawbone.
    As they drove home, Sandra was clearly pleased the girl had been rescued but she said with some genuine sympathy in her voice, “Sorry you missed out on the reward, honey.”
    What he’d told his wife was that the drain was so clogged with roots and mud that he’d only gotten halfway to the tunnel.
    She added, “I know you’re disappointed you didn’t get what you’d wanted. But at least the girl’s safe . . . and so are you. That’s the important thing.”
    He kissed her hair.
    Thinking: Ah, but you’re wrong, dear. I got exactly what I wanted.
    Though he could hardly share this thought with her. Just like there was a lot about him he couldn’t share: Such as why he’d picked the old coffee warehouse in the first place: because it had windows facing the main door of City College—providing a perfect view for watching the girls leave, making it easy to pick who’d be his victims. This is what he’d meant when he’d told her the place suited his personality; it had nothing to do with having an artsy office in a vibrant redevelopment. He needed a new hunting ground after the secretarial school across from his old office had closed—the school from which he’d kidnaped two coeds within the past year and videotaped their leisurely murders. (Ironically Ron Badgett himself was one of the reasons that violent crime had increased lately in the old city center.)
    A few weeks ago, just after he’d moved to the new building, Ron had spotted gorgeous Tonya Gilbert leavingclass. He couldn’t stop thinking about the clinging pink tank top she wore, her long hair flying in the breeze, her slim legs—couldn’t stop picturing her tied down in a cellar, Ron slipping the garrote around her beautiful neck.
    Deciding that Tonya’d be his first victim in NeDo, he’d followed her for several days and learned she always took a shortcut from the school down the alley beside his office and continued through the courtyard of the deserted building behind it. Ron had planned the abduction carefully. He’d found that an old tunnel went right underneath her route and had laid a trap—removing a grate and covering it with thin Sheetrock, painted to look like concrete. When she’d walked over it last night, she’d fallen through and