Dead Man Walking

by David Carter

  “Thank you, sir. But I did have some help: I couldn’t have done it without Bobby and the MC. And for the record they all wanted to go straight and were granted their freedom.”

  “Yes, but that’s all changed now. Bobby and the MC have a double homicide on their hands. They’re officially branded as terrorists. And if they’re connected with the bombing of Sheffield Primary, well, let’s say they’ll be spending the rest of their lives in a tiny cage where they’ll never see the light of day again.”

  “But surely you understand there’s mitigating circumstances as far as the death of the commissioner’s concerned?”

  “Indeed I do. But it doesn’t excuse murder, detective. We have a justice system. It’s called prison!”

  Ryan sighed again. “Bottom line this for me, sir.”

  Commissioner Marshall came straight to the point. “Your task is to fix the problem you’ve created. Find Bobby Blaise and bring him home to face the charges for his crimes. I don’t care how you do it, or the cost of getting it done. Just make sure you bring him to justice!” He slammed his fist on the table.

  “And the rest of the MC?”

  “Oh, it’s too late for them,” the commissioner smirked. “They’ve been incarcerated without parole until one of them talks. They’re all guilty by association.”

  “What! Where?”

  “They’re currently serving an indefinite sentence in Brighton Penitentiary.”

  Ryan was perplexed. “What happened to a fair justice system? You can’t just lock them up for something they didn’t necessarily do!”

  “Oh, don’t try reading me the riot act, detective. You’re in absolutely no position to make demands. But to put your mind at ease, I’ve made each and every one of them a deal: confess to the murders of the commissioner and his daughter, and tell me where I can find Bobby Blaise—in exchange for a greatly reduced sentence.”

  “They’ll never give in to that. They won’t rat out their brother. It’s rule number one.”

  “Then it’s your job to make them.”

  “They’ll probably kill me for even asking.”

  “I don’t see what choice you have.”

  “What if I refuse?”

  “I’ll charge you with obstruction of justice. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Your career and life as you know it will be over.”

  “That’s what the last commissioner said,” Ryan muttered.

  “The difference being this time it will happen.” His features didn’t flinch as he stared Ryan down.

  Ryan conceded. There was no dealing with the new commissioner.

  “You’d better get started,” the commissioner said. “You wouldn’t want to miss that wedding of yours now, would you?” He smirked.

  Ryan and Hampton quickly rose from their table and made a bee-line for the door.

  Chapter 9

  After riding the subway to the lower-east Manhattan district, Blaze trudged along the dark, quiet streets for what seemed like hours. Time moved at a snail’s pace. He frequently roamed the lower-class neighbourhoods, not entirely sure what to do with himself. Sometimes he went looking for scuffles, unleashing his demons upon whatever juvenile delinquents happened to cross his path. His life was a train-wreck. He’d lost everything; he’d almost welcome death.

  As he strode past a run-down block of apartments he heard a man shouting from a room on the ground floor, followed by the sound of crashing furniture and crockery being flung against the wall. “You good-for-nothing bitch!” the man shouted in a fit of rage. “I ought to teach you a fucking lesson!”

  Blaze heard a woman cry out in fear, followed by the dull thudding of her body being beaten to the floor and a young boy screaming uncontrollably. No one from the other apartments seemed to take any notice or care about the commotion. He bolted up the cracked, concrete steps and entered the lobby. The lock on the door was broken, so anyone could have entered without permission. He tried the door to the apartment where the woman’s screams were being ignored. It was locked. Without hesitation, Blaze took a run up and lunged at the door with his shoulder. The rickety lock shattered. The door burst open with a wide spray of splinters.

  Startled by the intrusion, the white, stocky skinhead looked up from his hysterical wife on the floor to see a raging bull charging at him. He didn’t have time to react. Blaze tackled him around the waist and drove him backwards into the keyboard cover of the rustic piano standing against the wall of the living room. The man gasped as a sharp burst of air was thrust from his lungs. Blaze landed a rapid-fire combo of punches to the man’s stunned face, landing every blow with killer-force, dazing him long enough for Blaze to open the keyboard cover and shove the man’s face down over the keys before repeatedly slamming the lid down on his skull until he stopped twitching. Sticky blood oozed like treacle from the man’s ears, nose, and mouth—all over and in between the worn, ivory keys—slowly trickling over the edge of the keyboard, forming a thick puddle of crimson on the patchy brown carpet beneath.

  Blaze left the man’s head wedged beneath the cover and took a deep breath to calm his pulse. He turned around to see the little boy hunched up behind a lumpy, green sofa in the corner of the room. His shrieks had calmed to quiet whimpers. Blaze walked over to him and crouched down, meeting the terrified blue eyes of the trembling boy with his own. The boy instantly looked away.

  “It’s okay; you’re safe now,” Blaze said, and reached out to comfort the boy by caressing his messy blond hair. The boy started kicking and screaming uncontrollably. Blaze quickly pulled away. “I’m sorry!”

  The boy’s mother heaved herself up off the floor and came rushing over to calm him. After a few minutes of wrapping her arms around her son and telling him he was safe and that she loved him, over and over again, his convulsions slowed.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset him,” Blaze said at last.

  The pale, gaunt lady turned around and gave Blaze a thin smile. “It’s not your fault. It’s a miracle he even let you come near him, let alone try and comfort him.”

  “Why’s that?” Blaze looked over his shoulder to check on her asshole-husband. He was still unconscious and drooling blood over the piano keys.

  She pulled back her faded blonde hair and re-tied it into a ponytail, exposing a long cut on her scalp. “Because my son, Benji, was diagnosed with ASD about a year ago,” she explained.

  “ASD?” Blaze replied.

  “Autistic spectrum disorder,” she answered. “In a nutshell, Benji can’t process his emotions the same way most people do. Mostly he’s completely normal. He can read and write with help; he’s got a brilliant memory. But he can lose the plot when met with confrontation or emotionally charged situations. If he knew who you were he wouldn’t have reacted the way he did. It doesn’t help that his father constantly bullies him and treats him like nothing more than an inconvenience.”

  They both looked at the boy’s father. He was a bloody mess.

  “Thank you for coming to my rescue,” she said. “But you didn’t have to. It was my own fault...” She looked away.

  “Why? What did you do?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “You can tell me,” he said as gently as possible. He reached out and turned her head towards him, holding her delicate chin between his rugged fingers.

  “I—I—I undercooked his steak.” Her eyes welled up with tears. “And when he complained I let my tongue run away with me and said he was being ungrateful. He’d just come home late from the clubhouse, reeking of alcohol as usual, demanding I get up and cook him something to eat. I was tired and mustn’t have concentrated on what I was doing. I try to make everything perfect for him when he’s home.”

  “And you think that’s grounds for a beating?”

  “He doesn’t do it all the time—only when I slip up and make mistakes,” she said meekly.

  Blaze was unimpressed. “And just what other slip ups have you made?”

  She paused to think for a mome
nt. “Well, sometimes I make his bathwater too hot or cold. He likes it just right. And sometimes he finds wrinkles in the sheets when I make the beds; he’s very particular with things like that.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Once, I forgot to clean the toilet right away after Benji made a mess in there...” Her pale-blue eyes faded off to a dark memory. She started sobbing.

  “What did he do to you?”

  She looked away, shaking her head, ashamed, tears slipped down her cheeks.

  “What did he do to you?”

  She relented. “He held my head down in the toilet bowl, using my hair to clean up the mess while flushing the water over and over again.” Her sobs continued. “I swear I almost drowned.”

  Blaze seethed with rage. I’m going to teach this fucker a lesson. “Why did you marry him?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I was young and he used to be so sweet...until he joined the brotherhood.”

  Blaze hadn’t noticed the tattoo on the man’s neck when he’d surged into the apartment. He peered over to the piano and saw the tip of swastika peeking out from the man’s black T-shirt collar. “The Aryan Brotherhood?”

  “Yes,” she sniffled. “He’s been working his way up to the rank of general. They are extremely disciplined in the brotherhood. It’s almost like being in the army. He’s said and done some things I’m too afraid to even speak of.”

  “I’m aware of what they’re all about,” he replied. “I was even approached to join them—by some guy known as Scarface.”

  She gasped. “He’s the top general in the brotherhood’s current leadership,” she replied. “Believe me when I say you don’t want to make an enemy out of him. He’s cruel and inhumane.”

  “Yes, well, I politely turned down his request.”

  “Well, it won’t be the last you hear from him. They’re like parasites. They eat away at you until you bend to their will.”

  “Thanks for the warning, but I can take care of myself,” Blaze said emphatically, then asked, “so what would you like me to do with him?” He motioned towards her husband.

  “Is he still breathing?”

  “Far as I can tell. He’s probably concussed and missing a few teeth; but he’ll be conscious soon enough. I’d be more than happy to drop him off somewhere far, far away from here, if you like? I’ll make sure he never bothers you again.”

  She gave him the tiniest hint of a smile. He saw a layer of the beautiful, loving woman she was beneath the purple swelling on her cheek. “Although that is tempting, my husband is my only source of income. I’ve devoted my life to giving Benji the best possible care and education. And I can take the hits. But I won’t have poor Benji going without.”

  Blaze hated the thought of her living alone with her husband. “Okay. But only if you’re sure?”

  “Trust me, I’ll be fine. But thank you anyway—er—I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name...?”

  “Blaze.”

  “Well, thank you, Blaze. I’m Jane.” She extended her thin, tender arm.

  “Take care of yourself, Jane.” Blaze shook her hand. “How about I check in on you from time to time? You know, just to make sure you’re doing okay?”

  “I’d like that.” She blushed.

  Benji curiously poked his head out from behind the couch. “Bye, Blaze,” he said, and waved his innocent little hand.

  Blaze gave him his friendliest smile before making his way outside to the lobby. He found Jane’s mailbox, jimmied it open and left a giant wad of one-hundred-dollar bills inside.

  He stepped out of the lobby and reached for his burner phone and dialled 9-1-1. You’re going down, asshole, he thought after making the call, then perched himself across the road in a vacant doorway as he waited for the police to arrive.

  Chapter 10

  Ryan and Hampton pulled into the visitors’ parking lot outside of Brighton Penitentiary. Ryan gazed up at the giant moss-covered concrete walls—complete with a never-ending slinky of razor wire coiling its way along the top.

  They made their way inside to the reception area, stepping through a metal detector and having their personal effects X-rayed before requesting to see one of the inmates.

  After being processed and entering the visitors lounge, Ryan picked up a Styrofoam cup, and made himself an instant coffee. He took a sip and almost spat the contents of his mouth against the wall. The bitter taste was awful. Hampton chuckled, then suddenly felt a pain in his chest, clutching at it as he hunched over.

  Ryan noticed him struggling and came to his aid, helping him take a seat. “You all right, old timer?”

  Hampton felt the pain ease and brushed it off. “Never better,” he replied. “Just a bit of indigestion, I think.”

  Ryan wasn’t so easily convinced. He was about to question him further when the tall, scruffy inmate he was waiting to see walked into the room, escorted by a hulking dark-skinned guard. The inmate’s long, thick dreadlocks almost reached down to his cuffed hands behind his back. His face was hidden behind a big, bushy beard. His cigarette-stained teeth were visible as he grinned at the two detectives while being uncuffed and offered a seat. “It’s good to see you, Spider,” Ryan said as they sat across the table from each other.

  “Likewise,” Spider replied.

  “How are you holding up in here?”

  “Well, it ain’t the fucking Le Grand Hotel, but I’ve lived in worse places.” He eyed Hampton with a look of confusion. “Who’s the old geezer?”

  “This is my faithful Fido, Detective Steve Hampton.” Ryan grinned.

  Spider chuckled as he recognised the name. “Ah, so you’re the one Blaze kept going on about,” Spider said.

  “I beg your pardon?” Hampton replied. “What was he saying about me?” He noticed the tattoo of a large redback spider on his hand.

  “Let’s just say he cares about his mother more than he would dare to admit.” He smirked. “He just wanted to know you weren’t going to break her heart. Not that it makes any difference now...” Spider discreetly winked at Ryan, keeping up the charade of Blaze’s death in front of Hampton.

  “It’s okay, Spider, you don’t have to pretend anymore; the cat’s out of the bag. I just came directly from a meeting with newly appointed police commissioner, Jerry Marshall. I assume you know what that means?”

  Spider’s friendly face instantly turned sour. “You fucking asshole! You ratted Blaze out! I knew we couldn’t trust a fucking cop!” he shouted.

  The hulking guard came storming over in their direction.

  “Get a hold of yourself,” Ryan scolded him. “We’re all in deep shit. And it wasn’t me who ratted him out ether! Well, not at first–”

  “Do you need some assistance?” The guard interrupted them.

  “Spider? Do we need some assistance?” Ryan raised a coy eyebrow.

  Spider calmed himself. “Nah, we’re cool,” he raised his hands in surrender.

  “One more outburst and you’re back in your cell,” the guard said gruffly, then marched back to his post.

  “So who ratted us out?” Spider asked curtly.

  Ryan looked left and right to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “You did this to yourselves.”

  Spider scoffed. “I don’t fucking think so.”

  “Do you remember the arrangement I made with the former commissioner? The one that was supposed to keep us all out of prison?”

  “Yeah...”

  Ryan explained how the search team had found the document in the commissioner’s safe after the bombing of his residence and how Sandra Gibson had suspected Blaze of faking his death.

  “I never trusted that bitch,” Spider seethed.

  “Well, it was no secret she never liked any of you,” Ryan sympathised, “especially Blaze.”

  “So why exactly are you here, then? I knew this wouldn’t be a social call when I heard you wanted to see me.”

  Ryan came straight to the point. “Where’s Blaze?”

  “You know
I can’t answer that.”

  “Come on, Spider, I need your help to find him.”

  “Or what? You’ll go to prison? Join the fucking club!”

  “Hey, I did my part to keep all of you out of here, and you went and murdered the commissioner! This is all on you!” he whispered harshly. “You should have left well-enough alone.”

  “After his fucking rat of a daughter used me to get into the club, broke my heart, and killed Blaze’s girl? You know it doesn’t work like that; her death was a mere formality. And after the commissioner butchered Blaze’s grandparents, his fate was sealed. That is the way of the MC.” He glared at him defiantly.

  “I understand your desire for blood, but you do realise that Commissioner Marshall won’t rest ‘til Blaze and the MC answer for their crimes, right?”

  “I don’t give a shit.”

  Ryan laid his cards on the table. “Look, the way I see it, you have two options: you can either help me and take the commissioner’s deal, or spend the rest of your worthless life in this shithole. The choice is yours.”

  Spider huffed as he leaned back and folded his arms. His muscular, tattooed forearms were visible beyond his orange shirt.. “We’ll never rat him out. We’ll all rot in here together to protect him. That’s what we do in the MC: all for one, one for all.”

  “Save the honourable talk for someone who cares. I’m not going to prison for something I didn’t do!”

  “Then you’re shit out of luck.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Ryan said coyly. His tone of voice tickled Spider’s curiosity.

  “What’s on your mind, detective?”

  “The commissioner said I could use whatever means necessary to find Blaze.”

  “I’m listening...”

  “How about we come to an arrangement? Tell me where Blaze is hiding and I’ll convince the commissioner to let you come with me.”

  “You’re fucking kidding, right?”

  “I’m dead serious.”