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The man laughed. “You don’t know how many times I’ve been asked that tonight.” He stepped back from the bar and gestured to his suit. “I’m The Countdown Killer.”
He moved off to serve some customers, but Chad stayed where he was, watching the man in the smart suit, with his hair styled, and his stubble trimmed, smiling and laughing with the customers.
Charming them.
Chad’s stomach twisted.
The barman returned to Chad and shot him a smile. “Still here?”
“What’s your name?”
“Romeo—”
“Yourname.”
“Dean.”
Chad shifted. “Why him? Why … the countdown killer?”
Dean blew out a breath. “The truth?”
Chad nodded.
“Pete wanted us to dress up, and I didn’t have time to get a costume, so I came in my suit, and said I was the countdown killer.”
“You’re not a fan of his then?”
Dean pulled a face of disgust. “I’m not a fan of his or any other serial killer. This,” he gestured to the nightclub, “isn’t my idea of fun, but we go where the money is and put on a good night. Please say you’re not one of these true crime enthusiasts?”
“I’m not.”
“I’ve seen three Doctor Carter costumes, the guy killed kids,kids. He chopped them up and dumped them in the ground before taking off.”
“I think Karma will catch up to him.”
“I hope so, and over there, a guy is wearing a mullet wig, Speedos, and a coach t-shirt, posing for pictures as Vincent Whitehall.” Dean pulled his jacket. “I know I can’t criticize them when I’m telling people I’m the countdown killer, but some of the costumes are hard to stomach, especially when there is a killer on the loose.”
Dean made his way along the bar, serving the customers, and chatting away, but when he spotted Chad hadn’t moved he came back.
“You must’ve heard things,” Chad started.
Dean raised his eyebrow. “Things?”
“Behind the bar, all these people, their tongues loosening.”
“You can tell which ones are true crime lovers or not, just by their reaction to these murders. The true crime lovers are excited by it, but everyone else wants this person caught, and fast, and I’m with them.”
Chad nodded. “Me, too.”
“Who knew Frankenstein could dress so well.”
Chad glanced down at himself. Tight black pants and a white shirt. Romeo had pawed at both telling Chad he was too handsome to be let out on his own. He’d rubbed Chad to hardness through the fabric until Chad pushed him away with a curse.
“Well, technically I’m his monster.”
“What do you look like under there?”
Scarred.
