by Dan O'Brien
“Like kidney thieves,” offered Billy.
The examiner looked at him with irritation. “Quite so. Organ thieves are known for leaving their victims to suffer and die after they’ve removed what they wanted.”
Lauren examined Ken Marlowe’s corpse. He had a Nordic look about him. Handsome with strong features, his pale skin was a reminder of the brief existence granted to humans. “Was there anything else?”
The M.E. leaned over the corpse and gestured with a blue-gloved hand. “We found a strange residue on his face. The toxicology report indicated its closest match was Marcaine, though it would be difficult to explain why he had so much of it on his face.”
“Marcaine, like the anesthetic?” asked Billy.
Lauren looked at her brother with a smile. She wanted to josh him a bit for knowing something so technical, but worried about being too friendly with him in front of Lawrence.
Lawrence eyed them suspiciously.
“Could that have caused the heart attack?” spoke Lauren.
The M.E. remained aloof as he shook his head. “Based on the residue pattern, I suspected there might be brain damage, so I performed a craniotomy and found numerous lesions on the striate cortex.”
“Meaning?” asked Billy with a huff.
“The striate cortex is the area of the brain involved in vision and motion perception. Damage to this area has been linked to a variety of visual agnosia symptoms, like motion agnosia.”
Billy stared ahead blankly as Lauren walked over to an adjacent table. “What about the other victim?”
The examiner covered Marlowe, moved to the slab beside Lauren, and lifted the sheet like a matador. “Benny Phillips died of a heart attack as well and has wounds at the joints similar to Mr. Marlowe’s, but he also has various defensive wounds on his arms and chest.”
“Did you find the same residue on this victim?” asked Lauren.
The M.E. shook his head.
“What do we know about him?” she continued.
The detective’s voice was somber as he spoke. “Benny was a well-known member of the local homeless population. We’ve picked him up a few times for solicitation and public drunkenness.
“A history of violence?” asked Lauren.
Lawrence shook his head. “He was a musician a while back. Drugs dragged him down, and the economy kept him there. Haven’t been down to the local shelter yet to see if anyone knew what Benny had been up to.”
Lauren saw why Lawrence had suggested the murders were similar. Even though the transient had defensive wounds, both victims had their bone marrow drained. “Perhaps we should head over there.”
THE SHELTER WAS NOT far from the overpass where Benny had met his unfortunate demise. Weather-beaten and in desperate need of repair, the St. Francis Community Center was not exactly going to be featured in any architectural magazines. However, to the thousands of runaways and transients within walking distance, it might as well have been the Taj Mahal.
A homeless man, his dark brown coat too large for his emaciated body, watched the siblings and Lawrence approach. Even from a distance, Lauren could hear him mumbling. As they got closer, his voice became more agitated, his words faster.
“They aren’t watching. They should be watching. Ain’t ya watching?” rambled the man. His gray eyes were clouded and the dark circles beneath them made his sunken stare even gloomier.
Billy and Lawrence walked past, but Lauren stopped in front of the homeless man. Opening her wallet, she removed a twenty-dollar bill and pressed it into his shaking hands.
The transient looked at the money and then at Lauren.
“They’ll come for you too,” he said with authority.
The momentary clarity of his speech frightened Lauren and she took a step back. “Who’ll come for me?”
“You can only see them for what they are in the darkness. When you’re looking, they find you. Watch or you’ll weep alone in the shadows. Coming. They’re coming for us all.”
Noticing that his sister was not following, Billy returned. “Grizzly Adams, take a step back.”
The transient looked at the younger Westlake and grinned, revealing his broken and mangled teeth. The man’s voice was rapid as he spoke again. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, reveals things both large and small. Mirror, mirror on the wall, only then can you see them fall.”
“I think Dr. Seuss is trying to tell us something,” chided Billy.
Lauren smiled at her brother. Lawrence remained a few steps away, watching the exchange with a mute expression. “Did you know Benny?” she ventured.
“Everyone knew Benny,” the transient answered lucidly.
Detective Lawrence stepped closer.
“Do you know anything about what happened to him?”
“They took him.”
“They?” asked Billy with a frown.
“The man in the suit and the crawlers.”
The younger sibling threw up his hands and marched away, mumbling about the ridiculousness of the dirty little man. Lawrence took another look at the disheveled man before following Billy.
Lauren lingered. “Do you know what we’re talking about?”
“Do you?” he challenged.
“What year is it?”
The man looked at her sternly. “1973.”
“What’s your name?”
The man smiled proudly. “Paul McCartney.”
Lauren smiled sadly. “Well, thank you for your time.”
Pushing aside one of the heavy front doors of the St. Francis Community Center, Lauren noted the bars on the windows above the double doors; a chain hung through their handles in case of a lockdown. As Lauren entered the building proper, she curled her nose at the sordid stench that sifted through the Center’s musty interior.
Billy had already moved out of her view.
Lawrence stood in front of an enclosed reception counter and was chatting through a small opening in the Plexiglas with a robust woman wearing thick glasses. “Is the resident supervisor here?”
The woman’s voice was exceptionally shrill. “Anthony is in group right now. They should be done shortly.”
Lawrence smiled––an expression that disarmed Lauren immediately. His voice softened slightly as he spoke. “Perhaps you can tell me if a man named Benny Phillips stayed here. You would be doing me a big favor.”
Lauren moved closer so that she could see the receptionist’s face.
The woman’s tight-lipped grimace turned into a smirk as she started leafing through some papers out of Lauren’s vision, her pen tapping as she searched. “Looks like it.”
“Could you tell me who else was staying here that night?”
The smirk started to fade. “I’m not sure if I should….”
Lawrence smiled wider. “I don’t want you to feel pressured. I can certainly wait until the resident supervisor returns.”
As if on cue the doors that led deeper into the building swung open.
But it was only Billy. He pointed back the way he came. “Did you know there are tons of homeless people just sitting back there? Two of them were just going at it. I’m not sure if I’m disgusted or aroused….”
Lauren gave him a dirty look. “You’re disgusting.”
“I know you are, but what am I?” he whispered.
Lawrence turned at the exchange, but did not comment.
The doors opened again and the man who stepped through looked like he might have been homeless himself. He wore a ripped flannel shirt that covered a gray t-shirt with a faded print and ragged jeans. His untrimmed beard made him look old and haggard despite his youthful voice.
He traded pleasantries with the trio.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you much about Benny. He stayed here a few nights when the weather was pretty bad. We have a lottery system to see who gets the beds. Times are tough.”
“I imagine if you had unlimited funds, you still couldn’t house them all,” offered Lauren. “Was there anyone who knew Benny? Perhaps
someone who bunked with him here? Or under the overpass?”
Anthony thought about it for a moment. “Benny never really spent much time here unless the weather was really rough outside. And he didn’t take advantage of our outreach programs. The only person I can think of who spent more than a few moments with him was Willie.”
“Was he a salesman?” joked Billy.
Lawrence frowned.
The resident supervisor just looked confused. “Maybe before he ended up on the street. I don’t know much about him.”
Billy opened his mouth, gesturing absently.
Lauren bailed him out. “Do you know where Willie is?”
Anthony was slow to respond, for his attention was distracted by a stack of papers that the receptionist slid toward him beneath her small window of defense. “Another local who doesn’t take advantage of what we have to offer. He and Benny would share the same area, not much fighting between those two.”
Looking out through the small barred windows of the front doors, Lauren could see that a storm was coming. Gray clouds, bulbous and pregnant with thunderous precipitation, loomed just above the skyline.
“Thank you for your time,” spoke Lauren as she offered him one of her cards. “Please call me if you can remember anything else.”
Anthony took the card without looking and nodded, mumbling the usual monosyllabic goodbyes.
As Billy returned to the white noise of the city, the door lingered open from an upstart zephyr. Lawrence caught the door and took a last look around before exiting.
Lauren joined them outside and watched people scurry about with heads lowered and coats turned up to battle the wind.
“Do you know where Benny’s overpass is?” she asked as a gust of wind swirled past.
Lawrence nodded.
Starting forward, Lauren’s voice was carried behind her by the wind.
“We better hurry if we want to find Willie before the weather gets worse, detective.”
V
Willie McCormick had never read or seen Death of a Salesman, but he would have laughed at Billy Westlake’s joke if he thought it would lead to charity. Pushing aside the dilapidated remnants of the late Benny Phillips’ cardboard manor, Willie did something unforgivable––had Benny still been alive, of course. He overturned the shopping cart that overflowed with useless trinkets and served as the Phillips estate. As he sifted through the mound, Willie glimpsed something glistening amidst the landslide of boxes and litter at the edge of the pile.
Forgetting the cart, he dug into the refuse and lifted the glimmering treasure from the slick ground beneath. Turning it over in his dirty hands, he wasn’t certain what it was. In the meager light beneath the overpass, he inspected the thumb-sized sliver, which glowed white like an ivory crystal.
Hoping to see it more clearly, he stepped out of the shadow of the overpass.
Darkness filled his vision, the light dispersing like rats from a sinking ship.
The object changed.
Putrid and decaying, it felt moist to the touch.
Willie let it fall from his hands with a panicked gasp. As it tumbled down the sidewalk and into a storm drain, he felt a lump grow in his throat. He knew Benny had been killed, but that was life on the street. One day you were mumbling to yourself and the next day it was lights out.
Thunder echoed in the distance.
Grabbing bunches of blankets and stacks of paper, Willie hurried to make himself a shelter before the rain and wind came ripping through the tunnel.
THE SKY OVERHEAD RUMBLED like the hungry stomachs of the gods and lightning crawled across the darkened clouds as Lauren stepped out of Lawrence’s car. Her thoughts were preoccupied by the journal. She had not been satisfied by her discussion with Billy; his answers had only deepened the mystery.
Having parked some distance away from the overpass, the trio trekked along a desolate section of road toward their destination. On their left a chain-link fence created a barrier between the road and a Catholic school, while the other buildings lining the street were painted in pastel colors with bright doors and small garages that disappeared below the street.
Lauren wondered how those lower levels fared with the rain.
Another jutting tendril of lighting crawled across the sky.
The storm would be upon them soon enough.
They increased their pace as the overpass came into view.
A fat raindrop landed on Lauren’s coat. She looked up, scrunching her eyes as she surveyed the skies overhead. Another drop hit her face, which she wiped away with her gloved hand. “I think we should find shelter, gentlemen.”
No sooner had the words escaped her mouth did the heavens open up. Rain poured down, obscuring everything. The trio dashed beneath the overpass; a general cursing and shaking of coats followed.
Lauren looked around at the ramshackle cardboard and newspaper enclosures. “We’re looking for Willie,” she called.
Billy snickered.
She flashed him an angry look. “We’re not here to arrest you. We just want to talk.”
Lawrence poked around the makeshift shelters, pushing back entrance flaps.
Suddenly, one of the mountains of refuse stirred and an irritated Willie bounded forward, hands in a flurry of motion as he spoke.
“You can’t just enter my house, man. This is private property. Don’t you need a warrant or something,” he slurred.
Lawrence strode into the smaller man’s path and Willie backed off. “This is city property. We don’t need a warrant to come down here.”
Willie grumbled some more and pulled up the sleeves of his overcoat, which was several sizes too large. The dark skin on his forearms was marred by interlaced lacerations and faded tattoos and brands. “Well it sure as shit ain’t polite. No sir, it ain’t polite at all.”
Lawrence cocked his head and pressed his fists into his hips.
“Looks like the trashcan man doesn’t like you very much,” joked Billy as he looked past Lawrence at the curtain of blustery weather outside the tunnel.
Lauren stepped forward. “I’m Lauren. Are you Willie?”
Willie looked at her and nodded, his mumbling subsiding.
“Can you answer some questions for me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Lauren lifted her shoulders so she could warm her face and neck in her coat. “Did you know Benny?”
The transient nodded.
“Do you know what happened to him?”
Willie shook his head.
“Can you show me where he lived?”
Walking over to the now-overturned shopping cart, Willie pointed at the area he had ransacked just a little while ago. “He kept his stuff here. No one came to take it away….”
Lauren looked around the area.
“I took some of his stuff ‘cause he’s dead,” he offered solemnly.
She looked at him sympathetically. “There’s no shame in surviving, Willie. I understand why you did it.”
Willie sniffled and stepped back as Lauren knelt down and pushed some of the newspapers and boxes away. A clear spot on the ground, or rather an area unencumbered by garbage, was covered by a viscous layer of coagulated fluid with a small indention in the middle.
Lauren traced the indention, but did not touch the fluid.
“What was this?” she wondered out loud.
Willie chewed his lip and twisted his coat in his hands.
“It was shiny, ma’am. I didn’t mean anything by taking it.”
Lauren stood and looked toward Billy and Lawrence who were inspecting the shelters on the other side of the overpass. “What did you take?”
He pointed to the storm drain where he had dropped the object. “It changed in my hands.” Willie looked down. “It couldn’t have been real….”
She walked toward the drain and squatted down. Craning her neck, she peered into the darkness. “What exactly did you find?” she called over her shoulder.
The man looked around. “I do
n’t know.”
Lauren stood up, rubbed her hands together, and looked around.
Graffiti lined the sloping walls beneath the overpass; the scrawling script was both artistic and vulgar and danced in intermingling lines of neon paint and faded shadow. As she scanned the graffiti, one of the symbols seemed out of place.
Something about it looked familiar.
She walked toward the scribbling to inspect it more closely. Pushing aside the boxes piled against the wall below it, Lauren scampered up the slope and leaned her entire weight against the wall to stay balanced. She leaned her head forward and tried to read it, but it was not in a language she understood. “What do you have there?” Billy’s voice startled her.
Running her free hand over the symbol, she tried to recall where she had seen it before. “I saw something odd written here. Thought it might be pertinent.”
Billy crossed his arms over his chest as he watched his sister examine the wall, while Lawrence stood a few paces away and interviewed Willie, scrawling illegible notes in a small notebook. “I find it difficult to imagine that a man was killed in this overpass with so little physical evidence,” muttered Lauren as she committed the symbol to memory.
Billy held her arm steady as she slid back to the ground. The younger Westlake looked at the walls. “What do you think the symbol means?”
Lauren shrugged.
“Do you think our sad clown over there saw anything?”
“I doubt it. He did find something though.”
Billy raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
She pointed at the storm drain. “Says he dropped it down there.”
Billy moved over to the drain, took a flashlight from his coat, and crouched as he shined the flashlight inside. “I see something all right, big sis.”
Lauren looked back at Lawrence, who seemed preoccupied enough not to have overhead Billy’s verbal slip. “Be careful with that. Remember, he might be all smiles right now. But if he finds out you’re a plastic badge, things aren’t going to be pretty.”
