88 Lunch Date at the Bloodbath & Beyond Bistro

They met as always, for lunch, at the Bloodbath & Beyond Bistro. It was their weekly ritual, and serial killers like them were all about rituals. They would meet n' eat and compare notes of their nefarious deeds of the week.

"Only two this week," Henry complained.

"Well, you beat me out. I didn't kill anyone this week," replied Chester.

"Wow," Henry said.

Chester didn't ordinarily make Henry nervous, but the fact that he hadn't had a single murder, in his now-famous series of murders, like Henry's own famous series of them, made him reconsider meeting him here today.

"So, how ya feeling about it?" Henry asked Chester. He eyed the utensils nervously.

"I'm hungry," Chester blurted impatiently. "Let's just eat, OK?"

"Sure, sure," Henry said. "I do like their Caesar's. You're gonna get your usual?"

He eyed Chester nervously. Being close to a serial killer who was Jonesing wasn't smart, despite their weekly ritual over the years without incident. He knew Chester wasn't averse to killing someone right in a public place if desperate enough.

Even his ol' buddy. Yet, a public place was relatively safe, because although he'd do it, he'd think about it. Henry knew Chester was hungry.

"Let's get you fed, ol' chum."

"Yea," Chester agreed. "Very! I suppose I could get my usual steak, 'black and blue'--you know me!"

"Oh, I know you all too well," Henry chuckled.

The waitress took their orders. She was new. The Bloodbath & Beyond seemed to have a new waitress every week and, as usual, Henry flirted with her and got her number.

The orders took too long. Serial killers don't need reasons, but being hungry doesn't help. They both eyed the cutlery.

Neither had scruples, morals, or a conscience. Both also being opportunistic bastards, as their ilk were want to be, when the place emptied out but for them, they eyed each other.

"You're gonna eat that?" Chester asked Henry.

"Eat what? Nothing here at the table but us," Henry answered.

And while it was true that both were cold-blooded killers, Henry knew in what way he differed from Chester. Henry was just a murdering bastard, but Chester was a cannibal, too. And hangry.