Angel of Death Chapters VII and VIII


My Father Created a Monster

I missed Leticia right away. Her high-spirited personality, her lively behavior, but most of all, having sex with her. The butcher shop felt tedious again. Besides, I had lost an excellent helper. I knew finding a better replacement wouldn’t be easy.

I put a ‘help wanted’ sign on the window. Two people applied, but I didn’t like them. I felt terrible when I turned them down, so I gave them fifty dollars for applying. The next day, three more people showed up, but I turned them down too. Since it was getting a little too expensive, I removed the sign. I knew deep down I was looking for Leticia’s replica.

As I drove aimlessly through town on a Sunday afternoon, I pulled over to pick up a hitchhiker. She was in her early twenties. She looked too clean, decent, and attractive to be a prostitute, but I knew decent girls don’t ask for rides.

“Where are you going?” I asked her as she got in the car.

“Nowhere, in particular, I’m just killing time. I’m just staying in town for a couple of days. I need to make some money to continue my trip. If I find a job, I might stay for a couple of weeks. How about you, where are you going?”

“I was heading for the movies, but I wasn’t too enthusiastic about it,” I replied.

“Well, if you’re looking for some fun, we can look together. Do you want to go somewhere?”

I’d found out hookers are easy to talk to. They didn’t intimidate me at all. Most of them were friendly because they had to pretend they’re attracted to you.

“Yeah, there’s a secluded park by the river at the edge of town. Do you want to join me?”

After having sex with Leticia so often, I didn’t know how I managed to be without it for so long before I met her.

I parked the car at the far end of the park where few people could see us. She said she was from Oregon. Her objective was to reach L.A. to try her luck at acting. 

She’d been alternating the Greyhound bus and hitchhiking, depending on her luck. She said someone abused her back home. Parents and grownups abuse kids in so many different ways. No wonder there are so many unhappy adults in the world, misfits, psychos, and serial killers.

After a while, she went straight to the point and gave me the rates. I paid her in advance. I’ve never been a big spender, but I always carried two or three hundred dollars with me. It was getting dark.

After she showed me the entire cosmos, stars, and comets for three minutes, I managed to remove her blouse and bra. I wanted to compare her breasts with Leticia’s. Leticia won by a small margin. After we finished, I invited her for a beer.

As I was putting my pants on, I noticed the rest of my money was missing. When I confronted her, she said she didn’t take it. I checked her pants, shoes, and even her underwear, and while doing it, I got excited again and offered her another hundred dollars for sex if she’d give me my money back. When she declined, I pushed her out of the car. She didn’t have any clothes on. 

I drove away, and I could see her getting smaller in my rear-view mirror. But I felt terrible, so I returned and opened the door to let her back in. Then, she gave me my money back.

“I’m sorry, thanks for coming back. You know, sometimes I meet real bad guys that abuse my vulnerability. I’ve been beaten and robbed, so I have to balance it out. I’m not a hooker, I’ve always enjoyed sex, but I figured why not get paid while doing it, right? Is the offer for the beer still valid? What’s your name?” 

“Angel,” I replied.

She had a room in a cheap motel. We had sex and talked for hours, she seemed as lonely as I was, but I knew her loneliness was only temporary. We got drunk and I returned home a little before midnight. 

I offered her a job, and she accepted it. I knew I could regret it. I could still back out and blame it on the alcohol.

In the morning, I asked for her driver’s license. I told her I was keeping it until she could earn my trust.

“Okay, we got off on the wrong foot. If you stay, you’ll find out I’m not a bad person. Respect me and my property, and we’ll get along just fine. My former employee didn’t follow these rules, and I fired her. Behave properly, and I’ll reward you accordingly, I swear.”

“Don’t you think you’re a little dramatic? After all, it’s just a temporary cashier’s job.” She said.

“Yeah, you’re right, but I don’t want you to end up like the other girl.”  *****  One night, grandma found a letter under the mattress in what used to be my mom’s bedroom. I had many painful nights in my life, but that night was the worst by far. It broke my heart.
“I’m afraid for my life. If I’m dead while you’re reading this letter, let the police know that I only suspected my husband. If I disappear or end up buried in the desert, my husband should be the only one to blame. I love him, but he thinks I had an affair with my cousin Isidro while he stayed with us for a few weeks. I’ve always been very close to my cousin. We grew up together and had been good friends all our lives. I only love him like a brother, but Ramiro is too stubborn and irrational to understand that.

I think he might kill me. Nobody would believe me if I accuse him without any proof. I’ve lived in constant fear for the last few days, I’m afraid of what he might do next. He was a complete maniac when he found out that my cousin gave me a crucifix, and he ripped it off from my neck. I can’t control my suffering any longer.

When I lie in bed with Ramiro, he refuses to touch me. The last time we had sex, he suddenly stopped and asked me if my cousin was better than him.

I wish to die instead of continuing this way it’s truly unbearable. I finally suggested to him that it might be better if I went back to Mexico. He became furious and said that all I wanted was to return to my cousin. I thought about leaving him without saying a word and take my son with me, but I’m sure he would find us and kill us both. I keep praying, but it’s no use. 

Whatever happens, let my husband know that infidelity is a horrible word that never crossed my mind.”

Luisa Martinez Junco Visalia, CA 09-25-1984   

I wish my dad had been alive so I could kill him again. My dad always said that mom abandoned us. And that she went back to Mexico to join a former lover. 

When she wrote this letter, I was six years old. 
My dad killed his father and his wife. How could anybody be such a monster?  

Edmundo Barraza
Visalia, Ca.



Her name was Joy she was twenty years old. She had been waiting a long time to move away from home. Her plan was to get established in L.A. and later return for her sixteen-year-old sister because she didn’t want her to live the same kind of miserable life she had. 

We made an oral agreement. She promised to stay for at least three months. After that, we could make new arrangements. 

I offered her to stay in a small house, and she accepted. She seemed to be smarter than Leticia. She had short reddish-brown hair, clear brown eyes, and was very attractive. It took her just a short week to learn how to handle the job with expertise.

On her first weekend in town, I invited her out for a beer. We ended up in a gay bar. She appeared to be comfortable around gay people. She was very friendly with everybody. 

After a few beers, she asked me to dance.

“I’m not drunk enough,” I said.

Her company was pleasant. She hadn’t noticed yet how shy I was.

“I’ve never danced in public in my whole life. I’m sure I don’t know how to dance, but if I’m drunk, I might give it a try.” I said.

We never found out if I could dance because we got drunk and forgot about dancing. We returned home around midnight, and we had sex. 

She said one of his dad’s friends raped her when she was sixteen and that her dad stabbed him in the back. They sentenced her dad to five years in prison, but he did only two. Her mom left them while he was in jail. She was afraid something like that could happen to her younger sister too. 


So far, the murders I’ve committed had been hate crimes. I hated insults and denigration (Dad) I hated getting robbed (thief) and I hated betrayal (Leticia). I’ve been around blood, meat, and bones all my life, but my emotions never got involved in that. When I first came in contact with human blood, I noticed it could be addictive. 

Being in control gave me power, and with that power, shyness disappeared.

The perfect crime is perfect until it gets discovered. If you kill someone and nobody finds out it could become an obsession to kill again. And I guess if it’s so easy it’s hard to stop. And if you add a disposal place like a butcher shop to get rid of the bodies, then, it becomes a lot easier.

Joy adapted quickly to the city. We went back to the gay bar.

“I like this little town. I love my new freedom too.” She said.

“It must be hard for a woman to be on the road all by herself, right?”

“Oh, yeah, there are a lot of psychos in California, but not you, you’re a sweet guy. I can’t even imagine you killing an ant.”

“I hope you never find out what I’m capable of, but thanks for your honest opinion.”

“I must tell you again that I’m not a hooker. I never accepted doing it with old men, only good-looking guys like you. I don’t think I’ll do it again. By the way, I wanted to thank you for your hospitality and your friendship. I needed a break from the instability and dangers of the road.”

“Well, you’ve been helpful. At first, the customers felt a little intimidated by you because you don’t speak Spanish, but now, they like you because you’re trying to learn. And they think it’s funny.” 

“I can’t believe so many people in America don’t speak English. But I like Spanish people, the food, the music, and also the culture.”

“But we’re not Spanish, we’re Mexicans.”

“You know what I mean, Latinos, Hispanics, Mexicans. All I’m trying to say is people that speak Spanish.” 

I should have started drinking alcohol when I was younger. It made me feel less inhibited. Had I noticed it fifteen years ago, I’d be a happy alcoholic instead of the recluse, introverted asshole that I am now.

Some guys were playing pool in the back. Half the people were in their underwear, the bartender too. Joy found out that every Friday night they had a different theme. That day was ‘undies night.’

She dared me to remove my pants.

“I’m not drunk enough,”

“It seems that you’re never drunk enough, come on, let’s play in our panties.”

“Hey, I’m not wearing panties,” I said.

“Ha, you know what I mean.”

I wasn’t brave enough to take communion at church, but there I was, shooting pool in my briefs surrounded by gay people, and it felt great. If dad could see me, he’d kill me for sure. 

A guy kept sending us drinks, I didn’t know if he was after Joy or me. I couldn’t tell if he was gay or not either. When he finally approached us, instead of shaking my hand, he grabbed my balls. 

His name was Alfred. He said we could call him Al or Fred, but I decided to call him Fredo. He looked a little like Fredo from the movie The Godfather. He was after my bones, after all. 

Watching two guys kiss could make me cringe, two girls not so much, but I knew I could never have sex with another man, not even if I was drunk.

After a while, Fredo invited us to his house, Joy declined. She said she was too drunk. I called for a taxi cab to take her home, but I stayed. Fredo probably thought I was going to have sex with him, but I had other plans. Instead of going to his place, I took him to the butcher shop.

If he could see the future, he’d feel safer in hell. 

As soon as we got in the shop, I put my apron on and started sharpening my machete. 

“You’ll be my slave for the rest of the night,” I said.

“Ooh, I like it. You’re so cool. I’ll let you do whatever you want with me.” he replied.

I told him to sit on a stool. I covered his eyes with his tie, put a rag in his mouth, and covered it with duct tape. He was still giggling. Then, I tied his hands with an electrical cord and put them on top of a butcher block. Then, I grabbed my reliable machete, and with savage force, I cut off both hands.  

He didn’t react for a second. He probably had the sensation of still having his hands attached to his arms. He was trying to remove the tie from his eyes and the duct tape from his mouth. But all he was doing was rubbing his bloody stumps all over his face.

He screamed at the top of his lungs, but with his mouth gagged it was all in vain. He started jumping like a chicken without its head. It was a surreal, bloody sight.

His actions were a total sign of impotent desperation. He began to run until he crashed into the wall and bounced back. Then, with a powerful blow, he didn’t have a head anymore. 

Fred, Alfred, or Fredo didn’t exist anymore. Our lives mingled for only a few hours, and now, he was gone. Satan sent him my way for sure. It had to be Satan, God doesn’t do that, I guess.

Fredo didn’t do anything wrong. He was probably a good person. He could say life wasn’t fair. I could say that too. 

My homeless friends were happy again. Some of them had started to call me Don Angel. They formed a long line to get their hamburgers. I saved two portions of meat for grandma and me.

The following night, I prepared another exquisite dish for grandma. Chosen from her French recipe book. 

While cooking, I thought the dish presentation could be a little gross, but I was about to test grandma’s limits. I stuffed a small zucchini inside Fredo’s penis and two peaches inside his balls. On my plate, I put several thin slices of fillet taken from his buttocks.

I put it in the oven at 350° for ninety minutes, and then I surrounded the plate with steamed vegetables and added grapes and tiny squares of apples and pears, all sprinkled all with cinnamon and a few drops of honey. 
 I served the plate to my impatient grandma. With an astonished look, she jerked her body an inch backward as if she had hiccups. After a brief instant, with a subtle smile, she took my plate and passed me hers. Then, she started eating with singular elegance and excellent manners.

Grandma wasn’t so twisted after all. 

I didn’t touch the plate. Instead, I grabbed some cereal and milk and kept looking at the grotesque organ. I thought maybe even Fredo’s boyfriend wouldn’t have eaten it either.

Edmundo Barraza
Visalia, CA. 10-22-2012

***Two new chapters will be posted on Oct-8-2021

Author: Edmundo Barraza

I was born in Mexico. I moved to L.A. in 1978. I became a USA Citizen a few years later. At the citizenship ceremony, I had to swear that I would fight against all foreign enemies (including Mexico) in favor of my new country. I beg God that never happens. I love music, Rock, funk, punk, soul, pop. Beatles, Stevie Wonder, Pink Floyd, The Clash, The Temptations, and all you can fit in between. Playing pool, listening to rock, and having a beer is great, but reading a book, writing a story, or watching a good film is even better. I hate guns, bad people, and evil leaders. I thank God I'm not a racist person. I hate all kinds of injustices. I love good people. I would give my life in a second to save any child. Children are the most precious thing in the world. My ultimate goal is to shoot a feature film based on one of my stories. Every day I work a little more to be able to reach that goal.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s