Shadow Walkers

by R L Delaney

  Same wild, uncombed hair, same height and the same crooked legs.

  But that couldn't be. Sternfoot was sick in bed with a fever, and why would the man be in such a down-and-out place like this?

  Justin took a few steps forward, careful to stay out of sight. If he moved a bit to the side, he could get a better view of the man.

  As he kept staring at the figure, his heart started to beat a little faster. The resemblance was truly amazing.

  But it just couldn't be.

  He took a few more steps. Only one body was now between him and the person who looked so much like the dreaded chemistry teacher, and he needed to be careful not be seen.

  Justin bit his lower lip and stared some more. Then, he was certain. That man, who was talking to somebody else, was Sternfoot. There was no mistake possible. Sternfoot had a rather peculiar reddish birthmark, right near his left temple, and that birthmark… was there. Justin turned his attention to the man Sternfoot was talking to, a balding fellow with a sharp, pointed nose… That man looked familiar too.

  His eyes widened. Was he losing his mind? He knew that man too. The other man was Principle Rigby.

  A shiver went through his spine, and Justin felt his stomach turn. Principle Rigby and Sternfoot were meeting at an illegal prize fight.

  It was impossible to hear what they were saying, but obviously they were not talking about the weather. Sternfoot was laughing.

  Laughing? Sternfoot never laughed. The only thing that had ever come close to a smile was that cynical, sick little snicker of his, that he kept reserved for the moments he was just about to tell you that you had failed another one of his tests. But now he actually seemed pleased about something.

  Rigby stuck up his thumb. Then they shook hands. Moments later, Rigby turned around and disappeared into the crowd. Justin ducked behind the back of the fellow before him, as it appeared Sternfoot was looking his way. Justin cringed. Had Sternfoot seen him?

  For a few long moments, Justin did not dare to move, but nothing happened. Ever so cautiously he peered from behind the man before him again…

  Sternfoot was just leaving. Justin saw him disappear behind one of the fellows with the yellow jackets, and he heaved a sigh of relief. This was definitely very weird.

  At that moment the spotlights that shone on the boxing ring changed color. While they had first been bright white, they now began to flicker in different hues of red, green and blue, and the loud metal music stopped. It was strange, all of a sudden, not to hear the drums and the distorted, brutal riffs of the heavy metal music. Almost like entering a different world.

  A chubby little man, dressed in a tight suit, climbed into the boxing ring while holding a mike. With a wave of his hand he motioned for the dancing girls to stop, and shooed them as mere cattle to one of the corners of the ring. There the girls huddled together, and continued to dish out their fake, luscious smiles to the rowdy crowd.

  The chubby man tapped with his finger on the microphone to make sure it worked and then he spoke, his crackling voice booming through the loudspeakers. "Dear friends… welcome to an evening you will not soon forget. Tonight we bring you a memorable fight between two of the best prize-fighters known to man." The crowd went wild. "May I introduce… Guillermo Abaaaaahstoooo, also affectionately known as the Buuuuutcheeeer." The man howled out the names and more cheers erupted from the spectators. As soon as he had called out the name, a husky fellow with raven black hair that was tied in a ponytail, and dressed in nothing but boxing shorts and gym shoes appeared from the crowd. While the crowd went berserk he climbed into the ring where he danced around with a confident grin and gave the people a good look at his overly developed muscles and his gleaming body, covered with a great variety of tattoos.

  "And… ladies and gentlemen," the organizer continued, "… he will be fighting, none other than the undefeated champion of our region… Alvaro Ironbaaaaark."

  He lifted his hands, expecting Alvaro Ironbark to appear from the dark crowd, but nobody came. For a moment he stared at the crowd, not knowing what to say next and began blinking his eyes. Then he repeated his call. "As I said… I give you the undefeated Alvaro Ironbaaaark."

  Nothing. Nobody came.

  Guillermo Abasto kept on dancing around, lifting his fists into the air in an effort to get the people to chant his name. It was a most peculiar sight and Justin looked on, almost spellbound.

  At that instant, a scrawny little fellow pushed his way through the crowd and stopped before the ring. The organizer bent down as the scrawny fellow gave him a message.

  Even from as far as where Justin was standing, he could see a shock coursing through the organizer's body. For a moment the man seemed to stumble, but then he grabbed one of the ropes of the boxing ring to steady himself. Thus he hung for a second onto the rope and appeared as if someone had knocked him out.

  Something was clearly wrong.

  The man steadied himself, licked his lips and pushed himself back up to his feet. A second later his voice boomed again through the hangar, but this time it was flat and low, and void of any of the enthusiasm he had manifested earlier. "There will be no fight tonight."

  No fight?

  The crowd began to boo, and foul curses were hurled at the man.

  "I want my money back." A fellow, right next to Justin, with reddish, spiky hair and a T-shirt that sported a dragon with bloody fangs, jumped up in anger.

  "Yeah," others agreed and began to shout at the top of their voices. "We want our money back."

  The organizer, now clearly pale in the face, lifted his hands again in an effort to silence the angry crowd and said the only sensible thing. "We will give refunds."

  That statement calmed down the angry mob.

  "Why doesn't Ironbark fight," a tall man with an enormous beard that almost reached to his waist wanted to know. "Is he afraid?"

  "He…he…," the organizer stammered, "he can't fight."

  "Why not? We want to know!"

  The organizer licked his lips. "He can't fight, because Alvaro Ironbark is… dead."

  Chapter Five

  After the terrible news, that the famous prize fighter was found dead in his locker room, the crowd dispersed quickly. Without waiting inside for Joey and Billy, Justin had moved as quick as he could to Joey's Dad’s Pontiac. What a weird evening, and Justin couldn’t wait to tell his buddies about Sternfoot’s meeting with Principle Rigby. It took awhile, and most of the cars had already disappeared from the grassy parking place when they showed up, visibly shaken and a bit white.

  Joey looked up and shook his head. "It's terrible. And of course, we didn't get his autograph either."

  “You know who I saw…,” Justin began, but Joey and Billy did not seem to hear him. Billy was still lamenting the lost opportunity of getting the autograph and while he kicked at a pebble he mumbled, “Just our luck. Even if we could have gotten an autograph, it wouldn't be worth much. Who wants the signature of a dead man?”

  Just as Justin wanted to repeat his question, they were interrupted by the sound of a siren. Seconds later, a police car drove up with flashing lights, immediately followed by an ambulance.

  "Maybe we better get out of here," Joey said. "I am not sure the police will be too happy to find people our age at a place like this."

  Justin raised his brows, but when he saw who stepped out of the police car his face lit up. "Wait a moment," he said, "That's Uncle Harry. I'll go talk to him."

  "No, you won't," Billy shot back. "You heard Joey. We are out of here! There’s a dead man in there, and legally, we aren’t even supposed to be here.”

  Justin frowned. "It’s a little late to think of that, don’t you think?” Justin’s eyes flashed. “Come on guys. Let me talk to him. Just a second." Without waiting for their reply, he walked away towards Uncle Harry, who was leaning on the hood of his car, talking on his mobile phone.

  But he had not taken more than five steps when he heard the engine of the Pontiac start. He turned, just
in time to see the car turning and speeding away.

  For a moment Justin stared in disbelief at the car as it disappeared in the forest.

  "Thanks, guys…," he mumbled, and let out a sigh. "With friends like that I don't need any enemies."

  There went his ride home. How was he ever going to make it back home? He had to eat humble pie and ask his uncle to take him back.

  Harry, dressed in his normal clothes, was just finishing with his phone call when Justin walked up. As he stuck the phone back in the pocket of his coat, he stared wide-eyed at his nephew. "What in the blazes are you doing here?"

  Justin bit his lower lip. "Sorry, Uncle. I was invited by some buddies from school. I had no idea we were going to a place like this."

  Harry shook his head. "This is no place for you, Justin. In fact, this place is no good for anybody. Go home, or I'll tell your Dad."

  "Uncle?"

  "What?"

  "Well… eh… When you are done here… c-can I have a ride home?"

  Uncle Harry narrowed his eyes and scratched his head. "Why? Aren't you going back with those buddies from school?"

  "They left." Justin felt the eyes of uncle boring into him. He had not felt so small since the day he had to explain to Mrs. Thompson why he had been dipping Emmalou Nickle's pigtails in a jar of ink. He was seven at the time and had been secretly in love with Mrs. Thompson. When he saw the hurt expression on her gentle face, he had wanted to crawl under a rock and cry. Now he didn't want to cry, but the sense of shame was as strong as it had been then. He shouldn't have come here, and if he had listened to his heart, he would have safely stayed home to have fun with Balthazar. "It was stupid, Uncle… I should have stayed home."

  Uncle Harry sighed. "Well, I guess you leave me no other option, do you?" There was a scowl on his face, but once he had realized there was no other way, he softened up a bit. He stared for a moment at Justin and a slight smile appeared. "Who knows, maybe you can still be of use. Just stick with me, open your ears and learn."

  Justin looked up and could hardly believe his ears. "Y-You mean I should stick with you… now?"

  "Yes," Uncle Harry said with a grin. "Aren’t they teaching you proper English at that school of yours?”

  Justin pressed his lips together, and nodded. This was more than he could have expected in his wildest dreams. "Thanks, Uncle, I promise I will stay out of the way."

  "Don't worry," Uncle Harry replied. "I don't think we will be here long, anyway. It’s just routine. This Alvaro fellow most likely just had a cardiac arrest and we will be out of here in a jiffy."

  When Justin entered the hangar for a second time, he did not have to show a ticket. Uncle Harry just boldly walked in showing his badge and nobody had the courage to ask him who that scrawny boy was that followed him like a puppy dog. The hefty guard who had ripped Justin's entry ticket in two, earlier that evening, now kept his grubby hands in his pockets and acted as if he didn't see Justin.

  It was all fine with Justin.

  As they reached the locker room of Alvaro Ironbark, Justin noticed it was already sealed off with red and white tape. Uncle Harry just lifted it up and motioned for Justin to follow.

  Justin hesitated and swallowed hard. It would be the first time he actually saw a dead person, but there was nothing else to do but to follow.

  The first thing he saw after he had entered the room was the stiff, motionless body of the prizefighter, perched on a chair. It was hard to focus on anything else. The arms of the man hung down like flabby ropes, and his face was strangely grey while his mouth was hanging open. There was a little bit of white, yellowish foam caked around his lips and the expression on his face was one of terror. His shaved head was gleaming under the neon light that lit up the room.

  So that was what a dead man looked like.

  Justin bit his lower lip and shuddered. It was not a happy picture, and, judging by the fearful stare in the man’s eyes, it seemed like the prize fighter’s last moments had not been pleasant ones.

  Somebody was bending over Alvaro's body, investigating his face. After Justin and Uncle Harry had entered the room and had stared at the prize fighter for some time, the man who had been investigating looked up, and sighed. "Doesn't look good, Harry. I don't think this man died a natural death."

  Harry's brow furrowed. "What makes you say that, Doctor Barnsley?"

  Barnsley got up and smacked his lips. He was a tall fellow with blond, wavy hair and a small beard, neatly trimmed under his chin. Justin had met him once before, a few months back, when he had been visiting Uncle Harry. That day the doctor had come in to discuss something with Uncle Harry, and afterwards had sat down with him to make brief chitchat. Justin had been impressed.

  "The foam around his mouth…," Barnsley said while he wrinkled his nose. "… makes me think of poison. In that case…. It would be murder."

  Uncle Harry's face darkened. "When will you have the report for me, Doctor?"

  Doctor Barnsley carefully took a small sample of the foam around Alvaro's mouth with a q-tip and stuck it in a plastic tube that he closed off. "I'll check the foam tonight. But it will take me a little longer to examine the body."

  Harry nodded. "Thank you, Doctor."

  Uncle Harry motioned for a photographer to take a picture of just about anything in the room. Then he turned to Justin, and narrowed his eyes. "Well, Justin? What's your take on all this?"

  Justin's face flashed. "You want to hear what I think of it? You’re the detective."

  Uncle Harry's face took on a serious expression, and he squeezed his chin while he peered at Justin. "I am not sure if your mother would be overjoyed if she knew you are standing next to a dead body right now, but since you are here now…, what's your impression?"

  Justin's heart was glowing. He felt he was growing ten times faster than he had ever done. Uncle Harry actually wanted to hear his opinion and involved him in something so serious. He felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude to his uncle. Instead of bawling him out for having been so irresponsible by coming here in the first place, and treating him like an inexperienced kid, which he really was, Uncle gave him a chance and showed trust in him. But what could he say that made sense?

  While looking at the dead man before him, he thought about it. "It was an illegal prize fight, wasn't it, Uncle?"

  Uncle Harry nodded. "So?"

  "What if Alvaro Ironbark was paid to lose, but he didn't really want to go down? What if he was tired of playing illegal games, and he offended someone?"

  Uncle Harry nodded. "Could be, Justin. You've got a bright mind. Of course, it's too early to tell, but it's a good theory." He turned to another policeman. "Where's Alvaro's manager?"

  The officer smacked his lips. "Don't think he had one, Mr. Ames. I heard he was a bit of a loner."

  "Surely, someone should know more. The organizer then?"

  The police officer nodded and left, only to return minutes later with the chubby man in the tight suit, that Justin had seen standing in the boxing ring. The man had shifty, nervous eyes, and his eyes glanced back and forth between Uncle Harry and dead Alvaro. "Awful… Just awful. Who would have expected such a dreadful thing? The man was strong like an ox.""

  "Yes," Uncle Harry said. "But even an ox may fall by the wayside sometimes. And you are…?" he asked, while peering at the organizer.

  "Billows. Carl Billows," the man said, as he gave Harry a hand.

  Uncle Harry nodded. "My name is detective Ames. Tell me, Mr. Billows… You organized this fight, right?"

  Billows nodded. "Yes. Well, me and a few others."

  Harry frowned. "An illegal, underground fight? Aren't you concerned about keeping the law?"

  Billows' eyes began to twitch. "O-Of course I am. I am a law-abiding citizen, who always pays his taxes… I just… well, you know, people love this sort of thing. I am really just an entertainer, giving the public what they want." He began to scratch his hair and avoided Harry's glance.

  "Listen," Harry said in an ef
fort to calm the man down. "I am not here to dish out fines for organizing illegal fights. I am here to investigate the death of Mr. Alvaro Ironbarks."

  Billows sighed and he seemed somewhat comforted by Harry's words and shifted position. "Actually…" he looked up as if he had thought of an important piece of information, "…his real name is not Ironbark. He's called Alvaro Cruz. Ironbark is just his stage name."

  "I see," Harry said. He pulled out a notebook and wrote a few things down. When he was done he looked at Billows again. "Was there anything unusual that you know of? Anything wrong with the fight, maybe?"

  Carl Billows frowned. "No… nothing. It was supposed to be an honest fight. Ten rounds. The winner would get good prize money."

  "And the loser?"

  Billows licked his lips. "A starting fee. Still, more than the average bloke will make in a month while working in the Pick Right Supermarket."

  Harry nodded. "Did Mr. Ironbark have any enemies?"

  Billows thought for a moment. Then he shook his head. "No… not that I know of. But why do you ask? He did have cardiac arrest, didn't he?"

  "Maybe," Harry answered while looking hard at Billows. "We don't rule out the possibility of a crime. However, it's too early to tell."

  "A crime?" Billows blinked, stuck his hand in his pocket and fished out a handkerchief that he used to wipe his sweaty brow. "What's this world coming to? Just this morning I told my dear wife Ameli—"

  "All right, Mr. Billows," Harry interrupted him. "Just leave your name and address with us, and for now you are free to go."

  Billows seemed relieved. "Of course, Sir. Right away."

  He searched inside his coat pocket again. This time, he pulled out a business card that he handed to Uncle Harry. Justin noticed the man's hand was trembling. Maybe it was just because of the strain. Justin couldn't tell.

  "So… eh… I can go?" Billows asked while looking up at Harry.

  Harry just nodded, and without saying more, the man turned and left as fast as he could. When he was gone, Harry looked up and gave Justin a weak smile. "We are done here, Justin. At least for now. Let me drive you home."