Killers Never Die!

PART ONE:

Five year old Mary Cormier was perplexed.

"Jacques, it's time for your walk."

The sleepy Saint Bernard roused himself, yawned, stretched, and allowed himself to be collared and led to the front door by his young mistress. Surely little Mary meant well, he told himself as he ambled off with her down the street of their suburban home in Reading, Berkshire.

"Here you are, Mary, at long last" said the Carruthers twins, Milly and Dolly at once.

"It's high time you got here for our walk," added Milly eagerly. "There's a new owner down at the pub and we hear he's ever so mysterious!"

"I'll believe that when I see it," retorted Mary, as Jacques panted along behind her. He hoped the new pub owner still served his favourite beer.

After much discussion regarding their tedious advanced Latin and calculus homework assignments, the three kindergarten young ladies stopped in front of the pub rather dubiously.

"Well, it's your turn to go in and buy Jacques' beer this time, Dolly."

Reluctantly Dolly entered the pub. Young men smiled at her as she entered.

"And what would you be wanting, young lady?" asked Mr. Jenkins, the new pub owner.

"Please, sir, it's a pint of ale for my friend Mary's Saint Bernard."

"Ah, for Jacques, is it? Yes, we've all heard all about Jacques. Well, little lady, that'll be fifty-p in cash, if you please."

Dolly handed over the coins, carefully carried the glass of ale outside and placed it in front of the thirsty Saint Bernard.

"He certainly enjoys his cocktail hour," observed Milly thoughtfully. "Are you quite sure, Mary, he wouldn't really rather have a gin and tonic or something more robust for his palate? I mean, he is a male hound, after all, Mary."

Mary considered this briefly but replied, "No, I'm certain that Jacques prefers his lager just as any young Saint Bernard should. It's the best thing for him, I'm sure."

Having finished the ale, Dolly picked up the glass, went inside and returned it to Mr. Jenkins.

"Ah, he liked that, I shouldn't wonder. Yes, I imagine he liked that, did he not?"

Dolly admitted that he did and made her way out of the pub. Surely all the young men were very handsome. Yes, this would be a superb place to lose her virginity, she decided. All the girls needed to lose their virginity before they were six years old. They didn't want to be old maids and they certainly didn't want to be the only virgins in the class. Yes, this would be an excellent place to find some nice young men to help them lose their virginity. Of this there could be no doubt.

"Whatever took you so long, Dolly?" asked her sister Milly when Dolly returned to them at last. "And what did you think of that new pub owner, Mr. Jenkins? Did you think he was mysterious?"

"I thought he was perplexing."

"In what way, perplexing?" asked Mary, as Jacques followed them down the street.

"Well, if you must know, he looked like a psychotic killer, if you really must know."

Both Milly and Mary were silent for some time trying to digest this latest bit of information.

"But in what way did he look like a psychotic killer?" Mary finally asked, unable to resist the question any longer. "Did he have shifty eyes?"

"Well," replied Dolly doubtfully, "I'm really not quite sure how a psychotic killer ought to look, but it was more of a feeling I had. There was something creepy about him, if you know what I mean."

"Creepy," repeated Milly eagerly. "You mean like a psychotic killer. Like he has lots of dead bodies buried in his wine cellar, that kind of thing?"

"Well, I doubt he has that many dead bodies there just yet since he's the new publican, but he may have after he's been here for a bit. I say, you don't think he's going to try to break in and murder us in our beds, do you?"

"Well, I hope not," replied Mary, "because Jacques wouldn't know what to think. I mean, after I found my father making out with Jacques naked in bed for sexual purposes, Jacques might think Mr. Jenkins was just breaking in to have sex with him or to make out with him naked, wouldn't you, Jacques?"

The Saint Bernard pricked up his ears at these astute observations but continued to pant down the street following the three young girls. Surely they were all just talking nonsense as usual, he told himself. He hoped there would be another cold beer waiting for him when they returned home.

END OF PART ONE.