Charged with sexual misconduct and endangering the welfare of a child, Melvin’s stay in prison was alarmingly brief thanks to his cunning lawyer who was a pro at manipulating the truth and the system in his clients’ favor. Parents were boiling with anger and railed bitterly at education officials for allowing a suspected child molester to continue teaching.
So, to ease tensions the principal transferred Melvin to an administrative job at another school. Melvin knew he was under watchful eyes and had to be on his best behavior, but his hunger for little boys would not go away. So, he began lurking around places at risk adolescents frequented. Once he picked up a homeless Dominican boy named ‘Angel’ near the Times Square Covenant House with long eyelashes and a curly Afro. He couldn’t believe his luck. The immoral encounter only cost him the price of a pack of smokes and a two-piece dinner at Popeye’s fried chicken.
Tonight, Melvin was at Eddie’s Arcade on Flatbush Avenue, with his beady eyes set on a tan-skinned boy playing Dragon’s Lair and sipping on a quarter water. The black child looked no older than thirteen. He was small, around five feet tall, weighed roughly about ninety pounds, with big romantic eyes and close-cropped hair. After Melvin witnessed the way the boy’s Devil jeans hugged his lower torso, he was in lust, picturing in his sick and twisted mind how soft the child’s skin would feel against his bloated body.
It was close to midnight and something evil was lurking in the dark. ‘Mickey’ by Toni Basil played on the sound system. Most kids were clearing out but the young Dragon’s Lair fan was still there committed to rescuing the damsel in distress Princess Daphne. It was a sure sign to the pervert the child did not have a family somewhere overly concerned about his whereabouts. Perfect. When the boy’s game ended and he angrily announced he was out of quarters Melvin saw his opportunity and slithered over.
“Howdy,” Melvin said smiling creepily.
The angry-faced child looked up at Melvin with his bottom lip poked out. “Sup.”
“I see you like video games. Pity they cost so much huh?” Melvin inquired.
“And this one’s fifty cents.” The boy complained.
“Wow that’s a lot. But you’re in luck because I happen to have every video game at my place and you can play for free.”
“You do?”
“I do. So, what do you say?…Wanna come home and play with me?”
“Hey kid.” A deep voice called out.
Both Melvin and the boy looked over to see an imposingly large man leaning against a Ms. Pac-Man game console dressed in red from head to toe biting down on a peppermint chew stick ice-grilling him with a slow-burning simmer in his eyes. Never breaking eye contact with the child molester as the boy skipped over, he gave the kid a crisp C-Note and told the ecstatic boy, “As promised. Now go home!” then shook his head disappointedly at Melvin.
Melvin’s heartbeat accelerated. Whomever this guy was Melvin was certain he wasn’t a cop. After he was found not guilty, the arresting officers that were present to support the victim’s family were visibly upset and voiced their dissatisfaction with the verdict. The Judge presiding reminded them that Melvin was judged by a jury of his peers and found not guilty, then warned them not to harass him or they’d face harsh disciplinary actions which could result in suspension and or losing their badges.
The man in red had Melvin so petro that he lost his appetite for adolescents and decided maybe it was in his best interest to go home and masturbate to some child pornography. He quickly left the arcade and headed for the subway. After a minute a graffiti covered D train noisily snaked around the platform and Melvin quickly boarded it. ‘Stand clear of the closing doors please’, Once Melvin heard the most recognizable voice in New York followed by the accompanied bing-bong chime, he began to breathe a little easier. Then his heart dropped in his Pro-Keds as a pair of arms thick as tree stumps pried the doors apart, reached inside and snatched him back out slamming him onto the platform. When he looked up he was staring into the angry headlights of the fire truck from the arcade.
“Take my wallet just don’t hurt me!” Melvin begged.
“Get up!”
“My heart. I can’t. Please help me.” the obese man pleaded clutching his chest.
Not in the mood to deal with paramedics, Havoc growled then blew exasperated and kneeled in. “Here, take my hand.”
Melvin nodded ‘thanks’ then he took Havoc’s hand and suddenly pulled him forward and sprayed a blast of Binaca in his face. As Havoc cursed up a storm rubbing his burning eyes Melvin scrambled to his feet and took off running down the staircase at the end of the platform. The fat man ran frantically through the train station until he found himself sucking oxygen and clutching his chest on another platform. An iron horse pulled in and he was about to make his getaway when suddenly without warning he was knocked to the ground.
“You should’ve used Mace!” Havoc advised with irritated eyes. At that very moment the child molester felt the helplessness his young victims felt. He climbed to his feet running for all he was worth, pumping his arms and legs as he focused on the staircase at the far end of the platform. “I am not about to chase your fat ass!” Havoc said shaking his head, then calmly planted his foot on the outer lip of the departing train and held onto the grooves sticking out of the door as it pulled off. Melvin’s lungs were slamming against his chest plate as he neared the stairs. When he looked over his shoulder he shrieked spotting Havoc gain momentum. As the Trouble Consultant train surfed his way a group of graffiti artists across the platform tagging trains cheered him on.
When Havoc was right upon Melvin he let go of the train and tackled him from behind and they tumbled and bounced down the stairs crashing at the bottom. Havoc stood up and brushed himself clean then came over to Melvin who was clutching his sides rolling around in agony.
“My ribs, I think I broke them!” Melvin cried dramatically.
“Don’t flatter yourself! If anyone broke your ribs, I did!” Havoc said then dragged Melvin out the station and through the street over to where his Chevy was parked.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Melvin asked.
“Since we live in a society where our judicial system allows monsters like yourself to walk away scott-free after molesting children, the only way to make sure you get what’s coming is if you admit your guilt on your own recognizance to the police.”
Melvin cleared his throat, “I have nothing to feel guilty about because I didn’t touch that kid.”
“Just like you weren’t going to touch the kid at the arcade?”
Melvin avoided Havoc’s pensive stare. “My attorney advised me not to discuss-” BAM! Midsentence Havoc slammed him hard in the nose with sharp scarred knuckles, sending the pedophile down, landing on his fat ass.
“I’m not interested in what your scumbag lawyer advised you Melvin!” Havoc barked.
Melvin sat on the ground holding his face, “Beat me all you want. You’ll get nothing outta me! I’m not smart but I’m far from stupid! Being dubbed a child molester would be like a bulls-eye to the other inmates and prison guards.”
“Tell me something Melvin. How do you fit so much evil and sin in that stubby little body of yours? You know what, forget it!” Havoc growled frustrated then shoved him on his back.
“What are you doing? Hic…Oh-hic great now-hic-I have the Hic-hiccups….Hic!” Melvin said over spasmodic breaths.
“The way to cure them is to relax and breathe slowly. Hiccups are due to a lack of oxygen entering your lungs and this is their way of getting it back in. I’ve also read scaring someone can cure hiccups. But I’m not sure bout that one. Unless I’m not doing a good job.” Havoc explained to a surprised-face Melvin. “What, you think all I do is kick sloppy punks like you up the ass all day long? I read! Matter a fact just the other day I was reading this book all about methods of torture.”
“Oh-hic, really?” Melvin asked wiping more blood from his nose.
“Oh yeah. Fasci
nating shit,” Havoc explained taking out a box of Newport’s and tapping the bottom. He offered Melvin one and the pervert shook his head left and right frantically. “See, you are smart. These things’ll kill ya.” Havoc said and lit up. “So basically, for more than 500 hundred years, torturing accused criminals was the standard operating procedure in Europe. It was also the primary means of determining guilt. And there were countless types.” Melvin swallowed hard. He did not like where this was heading one bit. “Let’s see, there was the water torture where a handkerchief was shoved down the throat. The nose was pinched and gallons of water was poured into the mouth via a funnel. Once the victim was beyond bloated, his or her head was tilted down to increase pressure on the heart and lungs. Another method was where a man’s wrists and ankles were bound to four chains attached to the ceiling. He was then lowered onto a pointed iron rod, which was inserted, in his ass. By sheer muscle effort, he had to support himself for hours to avoid sitting on the pointed iron, which pierced him with insufferable pain only prolonging the inevitable. But I’d have to say out of all the sick and twisted things man has concocted to get a confession, the worse in my opinion was during the Korean War. See when the Korean’s were looking for answers from uncooperative captured GI’s they’d take a big fat diseased rat and put it in a jar then place the jar over the GI’s stomach. Then they’d heat the jar up with the rat still inside. Once the jar got hot the rat would start going crazy, spinning around like a damn tornado in a bottle, trying to escape and since it couldn’t chew through glass it would gnaw through the G.I.’s guts. Fucking nasty! Sometimes those rats would dig into the poor bastard’s belly and halfway into his heart before he broke down. And by then, it was too late.” Havoc explained with a twisted smile then flicked his ashes onto Melvin’s chest. “Now I don’t make it a habit of carrying around rats, but I do always carry this.” He said and produced a small can of dog food with a pull-top lid. Melvin sat there confused as he continued. “Melvin I’m gonna give you one option, non-negotiable. If you don’t accept, we take this to the next level.”
“Hic-The-hic-next level?…Hic,” Melvin asked confused.
Havoc shook his head frustratedly, then removed the lid from the dog food and proceeded to dump its contents all over the crotch of Melvin’s Lee jeans.
“What the hic-hell are you doing? Hic,” the pedophile demanded.
Havoc pulled his gold whistle out of his shirt then blew into it. “Now for the last time are you going to do the right thing,” he implored as the car’s back door opened. “Or, am I gonna give her the command to-EAT?” All it took was one look at Mayhem’s ferocious grin and Melvin nodded his head like a woodpecker. “Look on the bright side Melly Mel. At least you don’t have the hiccups anymore.”
Luckily for Melvin central booking was only six blocks away from the subway, since there was no way Havoc was letting him inside his fancy ride with Alpo covered jeans to muck up his rich Corinthian leather. When they got to the precinct Havoc waved him over.
“Okay pervert, go inside and ask for Detectives Angus Fisk and Jay Rockford.”
“Huh, Fuh-Fuh-Fisk?” Melvin stuttered nervously.
“Did I stu-stu-stutter fat-boy? Fisk and Rockford.”
“And what do I tell them?”
“The truth. That you molested a student you were entrusted to protect and that you were planning on picking up another minor tonight. Oh and feel free to admit any other sick and twisted things you’ve done. If someone asks why the sudden confession and are you being forced to do so, tell them that you couldn’t carry around the shame any longer and you need to be off the streets before another child is victimized. Capiche? That’s Italian for nod your fucking head!” Melvin nodded while darting his eyes down the street. “I wouldn’t if I were you. My dog’ll be all over you like white on rice before you reach the end of the block. And once she’s done I’m gonna stomp whatever’s left into the cracks in the sidewalk. Ball’s in your court.” Havoc said. Melvin dropped his head somberly then inhaled his last bit of air as a free man and walked inside to answer for his sins.
A couple of hours later, Havoc was sitting in a vacant Sunnydale grocery store parking lot cracking up as Arsenio Hall interviewed Eddie Murphy while puffing on a blunt. A blue Ford Crown Victoria pulled up and flashed its headlights three times. Havoc switched off his Watchman, stored his blunt in his mouth and switched on his ignition then tailed the car to an abandoned building inside the Brooklyn Navy Yard. A snow-topped white man with a permanent scowl and a broad shouldered black man with salt and pepper facial hair got out and came over. Havoc rolled down his window releasing the aroma of marijuana into the night air and returned the blank look they shot him with a raised eyebrow.
The Black detective leaned forward and sniffed the air then looked over at his partner funny. “See Fisk, I told you hiring ‘A Man called Hawk’ was a bad idea.” He said then looked back to Havoc with a sly grin.
“Well-well-well, if it ain’t Brooklyn’s own Murtaugh and Riggs. You two fossils ok? You look like you’re getting to old for this shit!” The Trouble Consultant wisecracked then reached out his hand and shook theirs.
“Havoc, after the day I’ve had I could use a hit of that.” The White detective said hinting at his marijuana filled cigar.
“Anything for New York’s finest. So, did he confess?” Havoc asked already knowing the answer as he honored Fisk’s request and passed him the blunt.
Fisk nodded exhaling a cloud before passing it to his partner Detective Jay Rockford. “Yeah, that sick son of a bitch admitted to everything and then some. He even said earlier tonight he was at an arcade in Flatbush looking to pick up a minor. That shit bag’s done.”
“Brother I dunno what your methods are and frankly I don’t wanna know. But you must’ve put the fear of God in him because he smelled like shit! We had to hose him off before we could even take his statement.” Rockford chuckled with mellow eyes after a deep pull from the shrinking blunt and returned it back to its owner.
Havoc smiled satisfactorily. “Yeah Mayhem has that effect on some folks. Don’t cha’ girl?” he said reaching his arm back and patting his dog. “It’s funny, my old man’s been on me to get me to quit my day job. Take the road less traveled. Even suggested I become a cop. Picture that. Me? I told him it’s highly unlikely I’d pass the drug test. But the way you two are hitting this blunt I’m not so sure.”
“Shit it’s impossible to be in this line of work without having some sorta’ vice.” Fisk said removing a flask from his coat.
“Amen to that.” Rockford co-signed.
“Not saying you wouldn’t make one hell of an Officer, Havoc. Hell, it even has a nice ring to it. But I can name at least several serious as fuck situations when you were able to get shit accomplished that my brothers in blue couldn’t. Including my own personal damn dilemma. No, you’re needed right where you are, Trouble Consulting! Doing what we can’t, that needs to be done! And, that’s coming from a seasoned vet of over twenty years.” The white detective said handing Havoc a thick envelope he placed in his glove compartment.
“Respect. So, how’s the kid?” Havoc asked concerned.
“He’ll probably be in therapy until he’s thirty.” Fisk sighed as his partner placed a consoling hand on his shoulder.
“Sorry to hear that.” Havoc frowned.
“But at least that piece of shit is finally where he belongs. I know people on Rikers Island who owe me favors. On both sides of the bars. Trust me, Melvin Smiley is about to learn the true meaning of pain and suffering!” Detective Rockford said bitterly.
“I love a story with a happy ending. So, you boys headed back to the Office?” The Trouble Consultant inquired.
“Nah. I’m gonna take my Caucasian brother over to Smitty’s to knock back a few brew skis. They have a live Jazz band performing tonight. You wanna’ roll?” Rockford offered.
“Can’t. I got one of those serious as fuck situations, that needs my a
ttention.” Havoc said then took one last hit and offered the remainder of his weed to the Detectives. “But here. For the road.”
“Much obliged. And Havoc if I can ever return the favor. Let me know.” Fisk said.
“Careful. I might just take you up on that one of these days.” Havoc remarked as he bumped fists with the Detectives before they headed back to their car.
Occasionally the unflappable Detective Angus Fisk enlisted the services of Havoc and Mayhem when the straight and narrow approach didn’t work because he knew the Trouble Consultant stepped over lines and could get things accomplished that he couldn’t. Like a confession from the perverted substitute teacher who molested his 9-year-old nephew.
Chapter 11
Tommy’s very first job as a Trouble Consultant was the kind of story best sellers are made from. It was the middle of the summer during a record heatwave. A scorching ninety-five degrees. Bodies were glistening in the heat as men walked around bare-chested and women wore tube tops and halters. Crime was at its highest form and the stick-up kids were robbing any and every one. Every fire hydrant on every block in Brooklyn was on full blast as kids and adults alike tried to beat the heat and have fun at the same time. Tommy Strong entered the neighborhood bodega to buy a pint of orange sherbet for his wife and unknowingly walked in on a robbery in progress. He tried to do an about face and keep it moving but the pantyhose-masked gunman stuck a gun in his back and promised if he tried to make it out of the door, that he wouldn’t! Reluctantly Tommy stepped back inside and was motioned into a corner with a group of terrified people. The gunman then proceeded to rob every one of their valuables. When it was Tommy’s turn to ante’ up he stood there unresponsive and uncooperative.
The others were scared but Tommy wasn’t. Instead he was pissed and refused to give up his hard-earned bread. The robber became impatient. He wanted to get paid and be out in a hurry. He warned Tommy that this was not the time to pull a Charles Bronson and threatened that he would pull the trigger by the time he counted to three, if he did not cooperate. The gunman began, ‘One!’ and Tommy quickly said, ‘Two-three!’ then disarmed him by grabbing and bending his wrist and forcing it down then violently twisting until it popped. The gunman let go of the weapon screaming in pain.
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