Dead Man Walking

by David Carter

  “Suit your motherfuckin’ selves.” Skinny-Jay grinned. “I can point you in the direction of their clubhouse, if that helps?”

  “I’d sure appreciate that,” Ryan replied.

  “What about wheels? You honkies got yourselves a ride?”

  “I’ve got the number for a cab...”

  Skinny-Jay clicked his fingers and within seconds a set of keys was placed in his hand. “I liked Blaze better than I like most white folks. And yo’ seem decent enough. Blaze’s friends are my friends.” He tossed Ryan the set of keys. “Feel free to use the AKs hidden in the back, and don’t scratch the motherfuckin’ paintwork.”

  Ryan and Spider thanked Skinny-Jay and headed out the back with one of his bodyguards. They were stunned to see a lavish silver Hummer with large, golden mags, complete with chrome spinners and black fluffy dice hanging from the rear-view mirror. Spider opened the rear hatch. He couldn’t find the weapons Skinny Jay had mentioned until he noticed the hidden compartments in the sidewalls. He lifted the panels and his eyes lit up as he saw the sleek, powerful machine guns. He lifted the carpet on the floor and revealed another compartment filled with more AKs and ammunition. “I’m motherfuckin’ driving,” Spider said with a grin; he snatched the keys from Ryan’s hand and climbed into the driver’s seat.

  Chapter 26

  “You sure you’re up for this?” Doyle asked Blaze as they wound their way through the haggard industrial blocks towards the brotherhood’s clubhouse. “There’s a fair chance you may not even make it through the front gate.”

  Blaze stared out the passenger window of the SUV. “I passed my fucking evaluation, didn’t I?”

  “More or less,” Doyle replied, unenthused. “We still don’t know who you are–”

  “Just make sure you look after Jane and Benji.” Blaze cut him off.

  “I assure you, they’ll be taken care of.”

  “Good. Then in answer to your question: yes, I’m up for this.”

  Agent Doyle slowed the SUV to a stop. As Blaze stepped out, Doyle said, “The brotherhood’s clubhouse is an abandoned meat processing plant two streets over from here. Do whatever it takes to gain their trust. I’m desperate to get someone on the inside.”

  “Even if it means...you know...hurting people till they stop breathing?”

  “Look, you’re an FBI asset. I’m sure you’ll make whatever calls you deem necessary. And once you have the information we need, I’ll pull you out. I won’t abandon you in the belly of the beast. You do remember my contact details and your cover story, right?”

  Blaze gave him a filthy look.

  Doyle grinned. “Of course you do; sometimes I forget how smart you are for a homeless thug. But one can never be too careful.”

  “Sometimes I forget how fucking pathetic you suit-types can be.” Blaze slammed his door shut and confidently strode away.

  *

  Scarface bolted down the stairs from the meeting room in the clubhouse after receiving an urgent call about a man standing at the front gate demanding to see him. Something deep down inside told him it would be Blaze. He didn’t know why he felt that way, and he didn’t know whether to welcome him with a stiff drink or to put a bullet through his skull. Either way he was intrigued.

  Lucky and a few other brotherhood members had Blaze down on his knees with his hands behind his head inside the security gate, surrounded by an armada of automatic rifles. Scarface boldly approached the unlikely scene. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?” Scarface asked Blaze upon his arrival.

  “Seems like your words had an effect on me.”

  “Oh, they did, did they?”

  “Look, I got no place to go: no friends, no family; I figured I’d make good on my contract.”

  “But you “ain’t no racist”, remember?” Scarface snarled.

  “That’s true. But I’m willing to make some concessions. And like you said: I don’t wanna be looking over my shoulder every five minutes.”

  Scarface hesitated. “You’ll have to prove your worth for all the trouble you’ve caused me.” He motioned towards Lucky’s busted face.

  Blaze smirked as he looked up from his lowly position. “You know I’m worth every fucking penny. Just give me a chance to show you what I’m capable of.”

  “And just how do you plan on doing that?”

  “Well, like I’ve said: I don’t hate black folks. But that doesn’t mean I won’t fuck them up for different reasons.”

  Scarface signalled everyone to lower their weapons. “I’m listening.”

  “Does the name Joey Jackson ring any bells?”

  Every skinhead surrounding Blaze was bobbing up and down, startled by the taboo name Blaze had mentioned.

  “What do you know about Joey?” Scarface demanded.

  Blaze grinned. “I know you want him dead, and I just happen to know where he’s hiding.”

  “How could you possibly know that? We’ve been trying to track that motherfucker down for months after he murdered two of my fellow generals in a turf dispute. Word is the pigs caught up with him and he went inside. But no one seems to know anything.”

  Blaze starting chuckling to himself.

  “What’s so fucking funny?” Scarface asked curtly.

  “To think I wanted to be part of a brotherhood that can’t smell a steaming pile of shit beneath its own fucking nose.”

  Taken aback, Scarface replied, “How do you mean?”

  “He’s in The Tombs—doing time in the same shithole as your current leader—and you’re none the wiser.”

  “That’s impossible!” Scarface spluttered. “The brotherhood has complete control over of The Tombs. If he were in there we would know about it!”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. You only think you have control. But the harsh reality is that you’re struggling to maintain supremacy inside. And isn’t that what you assholes stand for: white—fucking—supremacy?”

  “You’d be wise to watch your mouth–”

  “Fucking bite me,” Blaze replied. “For my initiation I’d be willing to go inside and murder Joey Johnson and all who crew with him. You want complete control over The Tombs? Let me go inside and sort those weak motherfuckers out.”

  “You would do that for the brotherhood?”

  “I ain’t got no place else to be.”

  “You could be inside for a long time.”

  “Makes no difference to me. As long as I’m beating in skulls, I’ll feel at home. What do you say? I destroy the motherfucker who killed two of your generals and held you down while Skinny-Jay torched the side of your hideous fucking face? Or you can let this unique opportunity pass you by.”

  Scarface couldn’t believe how fate had fallen in his favour. “I’ll be honest with you, Blaze,” he started, “the reason I wanted to recruit you so badly was with the intentions of placing you in The Tombs to maintain control once our leader has been released. He’s due for parole in the coming weeks. So for you to willingly do this without persuasion is music to my ears.” He paused. “I only have one question: how do you know Joey Jackson’s in The Tombs?”

  Blaze smirked as he relayed his cover story. “I was locked up with him for a few hours down at the precinct after getting in a street scuffle with some wanna-be homies. He was seriously freaking out. One of his so-called homies in our cell told me who he was and that he was being shipped off to The Tombs under an alias because he feared for his life. Then later that night, after I sobered up and was released, I happened to mention his name to Skinny-Jay, and he told me about what they did to your face, and that it was true that Joey was going inside. Apparently they paid off one of the guards to make sure he stays in solitary confinement away from the rest of the inmates so no one recognises him.”

  Scarface was stunned. Everyone remained silent as Scarface mulled over his story. Then without warning, he reached out his hand and heaved Blaze up from the ground. “Welcome to the Aryan Brotherhood, Blaze.” He embraced him tightly, then as he released his h
old, slugged Blaze square across the jaw. Lucky took a cheap shot, too.

  “Now we’re even.” Scarface grinned, and excitedly led his newest and most formidable member inside the clubhouse for a stiff drink.

  Chapter 27

  Hampton nearly leapt out of his hospital bed as Elizabeth whipped the curtain open and stormed to his side. The delicate veil of makeup on her face couldn’t contain the burning rage in her cheeks. “You were going to New York to find Bobby, and you didn’t think to tell me!”

  Sharon burst in right behind her. “I can’t believe you would keep something so important like this a secret!” she shouted. “Poor Elizabeth has been crying herself to sleep night after night since Bobby’s disappearance, and just as she started making peace with the fact he is gone, she finds out he’s alive and well in New York City!”

  Hampton heaved himself up into a more comfortable sitting position. “Why don’t you two ladies take a seat,” he said calmly.

  “No!” they replied in unison.

  “Very well.” He paused to gather his thoughts, and then continued, “then let me start by saying, Sharon, that I wasn’t privy to any of this until after you had found out. So I’m as much in the dark about the whole affair as you. And yes, I was going to accompany Detective Ryan and those filthy bikers to New York after I convinced the newly appointed commissioner that it was in everyone’s best interests that Bobby be found and brought home alive. But the good detective and I were unaware that he currently resides halfway round the world, and that’s the God-honest truth.”

  “You mean you actually went to the airport without knowing your destination?” Elizabeth interjected.

  “That’s right. The MC member they call Spider wouldn’t reveal Bobby’s location until after they were released from prison and left under Ryan’s care at the airport. So imagine our dismay when we discovered we were up for a round-the-globe flight! We both assumed he would be a little closer to home, like Australia or lying on a beach somewhere in the Pacific.”

  “I see,” said Elizabeth, she took a seat next to Hampton’s side and held his hand. “I’m sorry we thought the worst of you both,” she offered a timid smile.

  “Well I’m not,” Sharon said stubbornly. “Cameron broke my heart. He lied to us. I can’t just let that go in the blink of an eye.”

  “And nor should you,” Hampton agreed. “But you might want to stop and consider the difficult position your husband-to-be was dealing with.”

  “How do you mean?” Sharon calmed her hostility.

  Hampton explained what he knew about the former commissioner blackmailing Ryan into silence after murdering Blaze’s grandparents, and how Blaze had likely had his revenge by plotting the death of the commissioner and his daughter after she killed Zoe.

  “So you’re saying that Cameron knew that Blaze was alive and knew he would seek revenge on the former commissioner? That’s even worse! That almost makes him an accomplice!” Sharon said.

  “No! Of course I’m not suggesting that! Bobby made Cameron swear to keep the fact he was still alive a secret. He felt he needed to get away; he wanted to start over. After Danny topped himself and Zoe was murdered, well, he changed...” His voice faded off.

  “In what way?” Sharon asked.

  “From what Cameron told me, he did some things to some awfully bad people that were so disturbing that even Bobby questioned his own sanity.” Hampton looked Elizabeth in the eye. “He found Samuel Bowman,” he blurted out.

  Elizabeth’s hand covered her mouth as she gasped. “He found Samuel? Bobby’s biological father?”

  “Yes. And he made him suffer dearly for what he did to you.”

  Elizabeth stared deep into space as she recalled the day she was date-raped and had conceived Blaze as a result. “How did he die?” Elizabeth asked when she snapped back to the conversation. “I can only assume Bobby made him pay the ultimate price?” Her hand trembled at the mere thought.

  Hampton took a moment before he answered, “Let’s just say Bobby made a spit roast out of him.”

  Both Elizabeth and Sharon squirmed at the thought of Samuel being roasted alive over an open fire. “Was Cameron there?” Sharon asked. “He was awfully quiet after he returned from the case in Brighton. He told me Blaze had used a belt sander on one of the brutes that was importing underage sex slaves into the country, skinning him alive. He said it made him ill when he saw the remains.”

  “Yes, he was there. And as usual, Ryan knew Bobby was doing the wrong things for the right reasons, and put Samuel out of his misery before the flames consumed him.”

  “So you’re saying Ryan showed mercy to the man who assaulted Elizabeth?” Sharon asked defiantly.

  “Yes. And only a man of Cameron’s stature would do such a thing. Do you think you could both find it in your heart to forgive him? Because if you don’t, you’ll crush him. He’s already looking at a long-term prison sentence if he doesn’t find and return Bobby. Do you really want to lose him?”

  Sharon stubbornly looked away. “I’ll sleep on it,” she muttered.

  Then Elizabeth piped up. “You mean Cameron’s bringing Bobby back just so he can send him to prison and avoid being thrown in there himself—after everything they’ve been through together?”

  Hampton gulped. “Essentially, yes.”

  “Then I hope he doesn’t find him, and that he rots in jail for the rest of his days!”

  “Elizabeth!” Sharon exclaimed. “You can’t blame Ryan for Blaze’s mistakes! He’d be in prison anyway if not for him!”

  “I don’t care! I’m not losing my Bobby again!” she shouted, and stormed out of the hospital ward in a huff.

  Chapter 28

  Commissioner Marshall picked up the phone on his desk after the impatient ringtone drummed through his ears for the third consecutive time. He had let it go to voicemail twice already, but whoever it was on the end of the line wouldn’t leave him be. “Yes?” he said curtly into the receiver after hastily picking it up.

  A cold, insidious voice sounded in his ears, heavily breathing, electronically disguised. “The hour is near, Commissioner.”

  “I know, I know,” he replied.

  “Meet at the rendezvous in exactly two hours. Bring the package, and don’t be late.”

  The phone went dead.

  Commissioner Marshall slowly placed the receiver down and exhaled heavily. What have I got myself into? he thought. He flinched in his chair as Hampton suddenly appeared in the doorway. “I thought you were meant to be taking it easy?” he said tersely.

  “Oh, don’t you start as well,” Hampton replied, “I’m fine. Just a touch of angina, so the doctor says. All that gourmet living has finally caught up with me.” He grinned and patted his belly.

  “Angina! What in God’s name are you doing here, then?”

  Hampton knew the commissioner was right. “Look, I’m bored out of my skull, all right? And it doesn’t help that Elizabeth has a bee in her bonnet with me at the moment.”

  “Over this whole Blaze business I presume?”

  “Yes. But it’ll blow over.” He hesitated.

  “Something on your mind, Steve?”

  Cautiously, he replied, “I’d like to return to duty, sir.”

  “That’s completely out of the question.” The commissioner shook his head. “I won’t have you suffering another episode on my watch. I’m sorry.”

  Hampton hung his head. “I don’t know what to do with myself.”

  The commissioner stood from his desk, walked around the other side and pulled up a chair for Hampton. “Sit down, Steve.”

  Once Hampton had nervously taken a seat opposite him, Commissioner Marshall said, “Now, I know you technically have another two years’ service until you qualify for the pension; but have you had any thoughts about retirement?”

  Shocked, Hampton replied, “Retirement! Are you mad? I’m bloody-well working till the day I’m no longer fit!”

  The commissioner looked him in the eye, and
bluntly said, “Steve, that day is here; right now. But rest assured I’ll see to it that your retirement funds are paid out in full, including two years’ salary for what you would have earned over the next twenty-four months.” He paused. “It truly pains me to say it, but you’re becoming a liability. It’s time you listened to your body.”

  Perplexed, Hampton said, “Come on, Jerry, give me one last case; I’ll take anything. I need to stay active. You’re robbing me of my livelihood.”

  Commissioner Marshall’s eyes softened as he saw a man begging for one last joyride. “I’m sorry, Steve, the decision has been made; my hands are tied. As of this moment you are officially retired. Take some time out. Go on holiday. Spend some of your hard-earned money.”

  “I just got back from holiday, you imbecile!” He thumped the desk with balled fists. “You owe me!”

  Commissioner Marshall kept his cool. “I owe you nothing,” he replied. “We were even the moment I decided to release that mob of bikers to fly to New York with Detective Ryan. I’ve pulled enough strings. The decision is final. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

  Hampton gave up the fight. He felt weak, useless, feeble. Once an honoured detective with a sharp mind, now reduced to sitting around in old tracksuit pants, reeking of mothballs and stale urine—sipping tea and nibbling on shortbread with the old cronies in the retirement home. His mind was doing somersaults at the mere thought.

  “Get a grip of yourself, Steve,” the commissioner snapped him out of his funk. “This is not the end. This is the beginning of a new chapter. Go enjoy yourself. Go see the world. You don’t know how lucky you are to be able to retire and have the money to do the things you’ve always wanted to do.” He suddenly thought about the rendezvous he had to make within the next two hours. “It’s been a pleasure serving with you.” He formally shook his hand. “I wish you and Elizabeth all the best in your travels.”

  Hampton turned around and sombrely walked out. His heart was broken. Forty-something years in the force and he was reduced to this. No bon voyage, no send-off party; not even a farewell card. Just a lonely old man with a dodgy ticker standing alone in an elevator with the doors closing on his career.