Morris PI

by Dion Baia

  Once the goods were over the cargo hold, the loading supervisor signaled for the crane to stop and begin its descent down into the belly of the ship. Instead, ignoring the supervisor’s commands, it continued past the hold and kept going, pivoting to the right until it was directly over the bridge of the Demeter. The crane jerked to a stop, causing the cargo to sway lazily back and forth in a dangerous fashion. Von Stroheim saw the commotion and joined in with the chorus of men yelling up at the crane’s control booth. Men outside on the flying bridge jumped up at the dangling guide lines, trying desperately to get a hand on the ropes to gain control of the swaying pallet.

  A hush fell over the workers as more and more people turned to see what was happening, their mouths open wide in shock.

  The cargo dropped, sending the men below running from the ship’s enclosed bridge. The pallet holding the two huge cars came crashing down on to the wooden and metal structure, destroying the main bridge area and the many antennas atop. The line that held the heavy load took its time getting taut again but once the slack was taken back, the pallet was raised haphazardly for a second time. The Mercedes-Benz 770 completely broke free from its position and rolled off headfirst, hurtling down into a head-on collision with the foredeck below. It balanced there momentarily until its weight tumbled it forward and it disappeared with a tremendous crash deep in the ship’s cargo hold.

  The pallet was now leaning precariously to one side above the wrecked bridge, unbalanced by the 1939 Bugatti. It was raised again and then dropped, completely destroying the bridge and radio room next door. Small sparks and explosions erupted from the collapsed structure, steam flew up in the air, and the twisted wreck that was once the rare Bugatti burst into flames.

  Stroheim screamed in anguish, the stark realization hitting him that his vessel was mortally wounded. Heinrich’s head snapped to readiness and looked over to its commander, like a dog when his master was upset. Von Stroheim looked up at the crane’s cab just in time to see Morris exit the small door to get a better look at his handiwork. Mengele came back onto the deck to see all the commotion. Von Stroheim howled a vicious shriek, a battle cry that within it had the decades of service to his Fatherland. He shouted out an order to Heinrich, pointing up at Morris on top of the crane. Heinrich tilted its head and zeroed in on the detective. It sprang into action at an unnatural speed, and in a maneuver that no normal human could ever accomplish, leapt off the forecastle at the bow, jumping down to the main deck below, where it scurried for the gangplank that led off the ship.

  Sirens echoed from the surrounding streets, wailing down the road from every direction. It looked like every squad car in the five boroughs was on its way. Armies of police cars, trucks, vans, and motorbikes. Von Stroheim yelled loudly, and everyone onboard the ship started to panic while the dock workers on the waterfront were confused, some even taking their gloves off and putting their hands up, not wanting any trouble.

  Morris stood halfway in the doorway of the cab, watching down in triumph at the disaster and chaos he had caused. He smiled at the onslaught of police descending, feeling ecstatic and overjoyed at the situation below. Out of nowhere a bullet ricocheted off a piece of metal and shattered the cab’s front window. Morris immediately came back down to Earth, ducking for cover. Another projectile bounced off the metal control panel.

  From down on the forecastle, Von Stroheim fired an M1 rifle up at Morris on top of the crane. The en bloc ammo clip sprang out with the last shell casing, the rifle now empty. With rapid speed, he reloaded another en bloc clip and continued firing up at Morris’s position.

  Morris ducked again and laughed, giving Von Stroheim the finger. “Go USA, you Kraut bastards!”

  Fixated on Morris, Heinrich ascended the ladder inside the crane’s tower at an incredibly fast rate. Its teeth were exposed as it panted, showing more emotion than Maximillian or Karl ever had.

  Von Stroheim fired off another round at Morris, screaming up at the detective with a fury. “C’mon! Pay attention to me, you dumb son of a bitch!”

  Morris was ecstatic, laughing at Von Stroheim below while watching the police swarm the docks and round up the confused longshoremen. Had the detective been looking around and not just focusing on the Demeter, he would have seen the monstrous figure that rose up behind him.

  A gorilla-sized hand grabbed Morris’s ankle from below, causing him to fall hard on the metal floor. Heinrich’s head appeared through a hole in the grating standing at the top of the ladder. It pulled out one of the mini-automatic machine guns, but Morris quickly kicked it out of the ghoul’s hand, and the gun spun away and fell into the crane cab.

  Morris recognized the ghoul instantly. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

  He kicked Heinrich in the face several times with his other foot, giving him an opportunity to look for an escape route. Morris first reached into the cab and grabbed his forever partner, his Thompson.

  Von Stroheim used this opportunity to sprint past the commotion, deck side, wanting to personally even the score with the private detective who had caused all his problems. He headed for the gangplank, M1 in hand.

  Up above, Morris clicked back the bolt and pulled the trigger, right as the ghoul stood up onto the metal grating. Heinrich was no more than six feet away when it took the entire magazine of thirty .45-caliber rounds that were instantly embedded into its face and chest. Morris was only vaguely able to see the damage he inflicted from the illumination of the muzzle blast. Once the gun clicked back empty, he weighed his options, knowing the only way down was the ladder his opponent was blocking.

  Back down on the ship, Von Stroheim sped through the crowd and over the gangplank like a bulldozer, unloading his carbine rifle at a police officer in his way, a direct assault. The dead officer fell down into the water and another ducked for cover. He laid down heavy fire as he crossed and everyone scattered, giving Von Stroheim a straight shot to the crane ladder.

  Ambrosio and Davies ducked behind their squad cars, overwhelmed like everyone else by Von Stroheim’s firepower. Cops and longshoremen alike ran for cover. They returned fire but Stroheim disappeared behind a stack of crates and into the shadows. The police turned their focus back to the freighter. They charged the gangplank and came aboard firing, screaming for people to throw up their hands.

  The surge of law enforcement convincingly overwhelmed those onboard and they threw down their weapons almost in tandem, shocked and crestfallen that the war was over. Mengele merely smiled and ducked into a doorway out of sight, vanishing into the bowels of the ship.

  Far above the action, Morris found his current location eerily quiet, except for the steady howl of the wind and the occasional echo of gunfire that found its way up, distracting him from the one task he had to concentrate on, which was keeping a careful track on where he stepped in the darkness. Morris ventured further out onto the massive scaffolding, creating some much-needed distance between himself and Heinrich.

  He still held the empty machine gun in his free hand as he continued out onto the crane’s horizontal arm. Morris realized from his tight grip on the weapon just how nervous he was being so high up; he needed to be extremely careful where he stepped. With his free hand, he precariously held on to the cylindrical beams above for support, spreading his legs wide and almost having to leap forward to continue on the metal superstructure. The wind was beginning to pick up and the crane’s movement in the breeze was visibly apparent, making Morris queasy. He wasn’t a fan of heights so he tried to focus on where he was stepping and not on the ground below.

  The detective slipped and momentarily lost his footing, but he was saved by his secure grip on the construction above. He froze. The experience had severely shaken him, and his first impulse was to remain there and never move again, but he made sure to quickly regain his balance, knowing that he needed to put some distance between him and the ghoul.

  Von Stroheim threw his empty rifle down and started c
limbing the tower ladder.

  Morris decided to check on his companion here in the heavens. He glanced over his shoulder to see the fate of Heinrich.

  The undead ghoul’s face was entirely gone; the goggles still obscured its eyes, but its forehead, jaw, and cheeks were down to the bone. The nose and other distinguishable features were no longer visible; a thick, black crimson oozed out of the bare skull. The chest was a hideous mess; chunky pieces of bullet-ridden flesh did very little to hide the exposed metal shielding that had been surgically implanted. But still the bleeding mess continued to move, and Heinrich’s bare teeth opened and shut, sucking in air. It started after Morris, making a hissing and moaning sound as it continued toward him.

  Along the docks numerous police boats sailed over to pick up any stragglers who’d jumped ship. Boats were being directed by officers on the pier to shine their spotlights up to the top of the cranes. Another large spotlight from a police truck was switched on and the blinding beam of intense light shined high up to the crane’s arm. The many streams of bright light found Morris, and everyone below gradually stopped what they were doing to watch.

  Now the blackout had been lifted, there was a dark crimson warning light at the end of the crane’s arm, systematically blinking every few seconds and enveloping Morris and the surrounding area with a hellish red glow.

  Heinrich was performing a balancing act, climbing further out and getting closer with every methodical step. Morris, however, who was running out of crane to crawl on, was holding on for dear life. The further he ventured out, the windier it was getting. He finally reached the end when the arm became too narrow to crawl any further.

  If he dropped the machine gun he could probably reach one of the exterior rigging cables that ran above him and along the length of the arm, but what then? It would be a heavy upward climb, but he could possibly crawl up the pendant line to the boom hoist rope and follow the wire back to the tower peak where the two riggings met. From there he could get down to where he started out, to the area where the crane’s booth was…but it was impossible. Barnum and Bailey didn’t employ a high-wire walker that could successfully traverse that rigging. This was the end of the line, where Morris would have to make a final stand against the real-life monster slowly gaining on him.

  Morris focused in on the impending danger, Heinrich.

  On the ground the other officers were keeping tabs on Morris’s situation like it was some kind of ball game. Davies grabbed a group of beat cops and headed toward the base of the crane. Ambrosio was setting up a row of motorcycle cops, all armed with Thompsons, like they were civil war soldiers out on the front lines, three squatted on a knee and three were standing tall behind. He held them at the ready.

  Morris was crouched down, wedged into the upper rigging of the jib arm. He ejected the empty Thompson magazine and it clanged against the scaffolding below him, swallowed up by the night. He dug into his pockets and found a brand new mag, but during the process he accidentally knocked loose the only other one he had, and that, too, vanished into the darkness below. Cursing, he reloaded his rifle.

  He pulled back the bolt and looked up at Heinrich. The monstrosity was almost three-quarters of the way across, seemingly having no problem navigating the jungle-gym-style scaffolding. Its face was truly that of a skeleton now from the force of the strong breeze. The white bone was a stark contrast to the mutilated pieces of muscle and flesh blowing precariously from the sides of its head and the blood oozing down its damaged chest and tattered clothing. Heinrich’s mouth opened unnaturally wide and it bared its sharp teeth. It screamed a gargled high-pitched noise at the detective and then snapped its jaws shut.

  Morris took a few steady breaths to calm his nerves, then squeezed the trigger. He unloaded at the ghoul’s face, before aiming at the feet, hoping to throw off its balance. Heinrich stumbled, but kept its grip and regained its footing.

  Ambrosio pointed up at the jib. “Okay, boys, see the big guy in the middle of the crane’s arm? Light him up. Just be careful not to hit our man on the end.”

  They directed and unloaded their entire drum barrels up at the target, their projectiles completely savaging Heinrich and the surrounding scaffolding, shredding its clothes and what was left of its skin. It held on tight to the bars above, trying to help stabilize its body as the projectiles hit. The machine guns clicked back empty, and the police officers reloaded.

  Morris fired the last of his own rounds and his gun emptied. He climbed over the bars and began bashing the butt of the Thompson into Heinrich’s face. After several hits, it ripped Morris’s gun from out of his hands and threw it off into the night. The men on the ground were unable to get a clear line of fire because the two above were so close together.

  Morris clung to the cylindrical poles above for leverage and begin kicking Heinrich’s wounded body as hard as he could. Heinrich stumbled. Its foot slipped and the giant fell through the bars but caught itself with one hand and dangled there. Morris pounced, crushing its fingers with the heel of his shoe. When he stepped back to catch his breath, Heinrich took another barrage of rounds from the police below, but unbelievably started to climb back up onto the bars, using its elbows to lift itself up. The machine gunners below stopped shooting for fear of catching Morris in the crossfire.

  Morris grabbed the .45-caliber automatic from his waistband and chambered a round. He moved toward Heinrich and leveled the weapon less than an inch from the giant’s head. Heinrich had both arms locked, holding on to the bars and about to swing a leg up. It was defenseless from any attack. Morris unloaded the magazine of seven .45-caliber bullets into the monster’s head as fast as the weapon would mechanically allow. What was left of the face was eviscerated by the projectiles, even breaking the black goggles covering its eyes.

  When the mag was empty, Morris could see underneath the shattered goggles for the very first time. He gasped in horror at the evil he saw, and instinctively smashed the gun at its face, breaking off the jaw and knocking out some of those pointed teeth. Morris held on to the bars above and with everything he could muster, kicked both legs hard into Heinrich’s horrific face.

  It finally lost its grip and fell backwards, smacking its head on the crane and unable to latch on again. Heinrich fell in a tangled mess down through the grating, its arms clanking loudly, the last fleeting sounds from the ghoul. It fell down into the darkness, the spotlights silhouetting the flailing figure as it descended down into Icehouse #4. Heinrich’s body crashed through the warehouse roof, shattering the many blocks of ice inside, before crashing down through the wooden planks of the floor and plunging into the water below.

  Morris very carefully climbed across the long arm of the crane, eventually making the long distance back to the tower section. He dropped down onto the catwalk and hauled his battered body into the cab. The detective was just about to look for a radio when he was shot in the side of his back. He collapsed to the floor.

  Morris turned his head to the side and looked over to the tower access ladder. Von Stroheim was on the last rung with a small automatic in his hand. He fired another shot and it nicked Morris in the shoulder.

  “You destroyed everything!” Stroheim roared with fury. He discharged another round as he climbed over but it missed and ricocheted off the metal skeleton of the crane.

  Morris turned his body around and propped himself up so he could see the German. He felt up and down his broken torso, making sure the trauma hadn’t fogged his memory enough not to recall the odd gun that might be stowed in his trousers. There was none.

  “Ha…” Morris laughed. He was pretty numb to it all at this point. This is what happens when you lose your mind, and he found the whole darn thing quite funny. He had to, otherwise the sadness would hollow out whatever was left within him. So it really didn’t matter whatever happened next.

  Von Stroheim cleared a jam in the slide mechanism of his automatic, checked his magazine which he sl
id back into his gun, and chambered a round. He then pointed it directly at Morris’s head. “You bastard, your ticket is punched!”

  Morris stopped laughing, exhaled, and closed his eyes.

  A loud shot rang out that made Morris flinch, but he didn’t feel a new wound.

  He opened his eyes and saw an exit wound on the top left side of Von Stroheim’s forehead. Morris looked down through the floor grating. Davies was maybe ten or so feet below on the ladder with his gun raised. He’d gotten a clean shot upward.

  A brief sign of confusion flashed across Von Stroheim’s face. He tried to speak but couldn’t. The gun dropped from his hand as he struggled to regain control. After a slight delayed reaction, blood began pouring from out of the large exit wound in his upper forehead. Stroheim twisted his body to glance down at Davies. He turned back around and attempted one last time to go after Morris, but shock had set in and his motor functions began to fail him. He tried once again to speak, but staggered forward and collapsed onto the grate, facing the detective.

  Von Stroheim looked directly into Morris’s face, his eyes darting around showing signs of life. His hands lethargically tried to make the journey to grab Morris.

  “And fuck you too!” was all Morris could muster.

  He pulled his leg back and gave Von Stroheim a heavy kick to the face. It was strong enough to knock his body off the edge of the crane’s catwalk. He plummeted through the air, crashing onto a squad car below and crushing the hood and fender.

  It took a few moments for the detective to realize the danger was finally over.

  Davies holstered his weapon and stepped up onto the crane, cautiously making his way toward Morris. “Jesus, I’m sorry, Walt. It might take a minute, but I just really, really hate heights. I’ll be right over.”