He wanted the mob leadership gone and knowing that the head of the snake was cut off would have allowed him time to clinically dismantle there numerous operations that blighted the city but now he had a more alarmingly immediate concern to worry about in that there was obviously a mole within his department. Whomever was leaking such valuable information into the underworld needed to be immediately discovered if he was ever to completely eradicate the scourge of organised crime from his beloved new home. He brooded over these alarming revelations as he struggled to stand up in the rain and looked at the fish as the lightening illuminated its face and apparently revealed that it was sinisterly smiling back at him. Merlyo also then looked at the strange spectacle of the smiling fish that had been given a bizarre “smile” by the mob cutting its mouth in a gruesomely display of macabre mutilation.
The prolific raindrops danced upon its oily scales whilst Zalewski attempted to rouse an unresponsive but groaning Gerber in the distance. The defeated Ness could not help but feel the fear and intimidation flow over him like a merciless wave which enveloped him within its unforgiving grasp. He then slowly put his shaking hand into his waistcoat pocket and clumsily took out another opium pill from his silver pill box. A confused Merlyo saw this and asked him a curious question “What’s that?” The struggling Ness replied whilst he was still in immense discomfort and pain “A painkiller!” He then eagerly threw it down his throat and lifted his head up to the sky to wash it down with rainwater. After the open mouthed Ness had swallowed his desperately needed pill both men then gazed ominously in unison at the grotesque dead fish as it appeared to be hideously smiling back at them in the ferocious lightening.
Its glazed eyes appeared to look upon the two in an almost knowing manner and expressed an understanding of the two men’s demons that swirled around them within the vortex of their equally troubled lives. Its greenish tinged scales and sharp teeth brilliantly lit up as the lightening raged overhead, illuminating not just the fishes true hideousness but also the destroyed bonnet in which it lifelessly lay upon. The harshly cut flesh unnaturally showed its razor like teeth which had spent years devouring smaller prey within the oceans murky depths and now menacingly smiled at the two of them from some unknown beyond. The nameless fishermen whom caught it out at sea had unknowingly condemned it to become something else within its after life, a simple message of intimidation and fear. Its menacingly twisted smiling mouth knowingly expressed a bizarre amalgamation of horrific emotions that in turn also had a hint of sinister amusement about both men’s plight. Lightening invoked an instinctively involuntary response from both men, a response of a paramount fear that was further encapsulated by a perverse knowing that the dead fish knew them and their separate demons.
The lonesome detective stood facing a small brick building as windblown dirt irritatingly got into his mouth for the fifth time. The brick building had a small white dirty sheet nearby some bushes next to it which was held down by four strategically placed bricks, ominously concealing a macabre secret which the tired Merlyo was now keenly focused on. The brick building itself was in the centre of a vast open area which was covered in a layer of loose orange tinged dirt and half concealed train tracks that criss-crossed all around it. A line of derelict and rusty boxcars lay static upon a nearby unused railway track as the darkly overcast sky above continually released rain over the already overly saturated area.
The tired detective stood despondently in front of the Nickle Plate railroad police building as a long and powerful train roared past, instantly spewing up dust and immediately filling the surrounding environment within a toxic mix of unbreathable air. He put his handkerchief over his face as he coughed in the trains wake whilst he continued to look at the ominously covered body of yet another dismembered homicide victim. As the scattered dust began to settle around him, it coating all within a thin layer of microscopic and orange tinged rust along with the familiar emotion of pure and unhindered defeatism. The tired detective felt unwilling to proceed and look under the facing sheet because he was reluctant to play out the next dark chapter within this gruesomely perplexing case.
As the long train roared off and disappeared into the distant rain’s vail of uncompromising secrecy, he did not move towards the small police building’s cover because of this depressing feeling of learned helplessness about this entire case. He would rather remain motionless and not partake in the gruesome sight that ominously awaited him under the concealing sheets for fear of it giving emotional enjoyment to unseen enemy. His paranoid delusions about being watched had infiltrated his isonomic mind and became all-encompassing as his sleepless nights now dominated his waking thoughts. As the rain tapped danced off the brim of his white fedora hat, its repetitive sound made him ponder the previous few month’s events that had transpired and brought him to this desolately despondent location of déjà vu today.
Six months had passed since the chilling discovery of the dismembered body parts of Flo Polillo and the newspapers where still keeping the pressure up on the police by creating outrageous stories about the unsolved homicides. They did this in order to feed their readers ferocious appetite for new details about the macabre crimes, sometimes creating stories of lurid speculations about the unknown assailant’s possible motives. The Cleveland Plain Dealer had recently run the exclusive story about Alfred Polizzi’s complete takeover of little Italy’s Mayfield Road Mob with the murder of his main rival, Dr Joseph Romano. It attributed the blame of this newly created underworld empire to the dysfunctional police force which was led by Ness, further adding to his already large list of troublesome problems.
Ness had in turn secretly instructed Merlyo, Zalewski and Gerber to never discuss the events of that particular night’s traumatic mob chase because he wanted to keep his inside source safe from Polizzi’s retribution. Even though it had only happened a few weeks ago, the memories of the nights traumatic events where heavily edged upon all their troubled minds and they chose not to speak of these events through fear of the listening ears of unseen enemies within the departments four walls. All brushed aside any reports of the rumoured early morning chase that had taken place and Ness vowed to get revenge upon Polizzi where it hurt most, within his pockets. He notably increased his operations around the mob’s infrastructure and power base, attempting to manufacture artificial conflicts between the Jewish, Irish and Italians mobs so that they would not unite to form a powerful Cleveland syndicate. Ness dreaded the idea of the arrogant Polizzi sitting comfortably upon his newly won throne and would do all in his power to dislodge him from this prized pedestal.
Meanwhile the newspapers had dramatically increased their sales revenue figures with any mention of the unknown killer and so each had each created a variety of inventive names for the unknown assailant, knowing that by creating an inventive name they were manufacturing a familiarity about the killer that would sell. A few names stuck within the public psyche more than others such as “The Mad Butcher of Kingsbury Run”, “The Torso Killer” or “Torso Slayer” and “The Phantom of Kingsbury Run” These four specific names appeared to be the most popular and by just adding one of these names to the front page would guarantee increased revenue for the creatively opportunistic newspapers owners.
Ness had taken his eye off the unsolved homicide cases for the time being not only to primarily focus all his efforts on his secret tax evasion case with Cullitan against Polizzi, but also because he had been preparing Cleveland for the upcoming Republican National Convention and the Great Lakes Exhibition. The central areas of Cleveland where being made tightly secure, cleaned up and made to look aesthetically pleasing because these two important rejuvenating events for the city where fast approaching. They were also having the desired effect of eliminating the unsolved homicides from the newspaper headlines and filling them instead with more positive topics for the general public to sink their teeth into. Ness did not want any of the many attending delegation members, or important dignitaries of these two upcoming grand
events, to be greeted in with grim tales of some mysterious madman whom decapitates his victims whilst they were still alive. He hated the prospect of them taking such gruesomely negative stories back to their respective home states instead of delightfully positive stories which were meant to showcase Cleveland as a vibrantly modern city that was open for business and major investment. Cleveland had an unseen yet tangible carnival aura surrounding it now whilst the twin conventions where building up and this positive feeling was like a refreshing summer’s breeze that was gently caressing Cleveland’s skin, waking it slowly up from its slumber after a long and harsh winter.
However as Merlyo stood motionless within the rain, these warming thoughts about Cleveland’s potential recovery where too distant to even conceptualise as the cold wind reasserted its dominance against his drenched skin and his tired mind. His thoughts about the past few month’s events then drifted back into the dark recessives of his troubled mind as he then finally decided to move under the nearby police building’s pronounced roof, adamant that he had endured enough of the ever persistent elements wet fury. He then reluctantly moved closer towards the brick building but also towards the sheet covered body of the latest victim whilst doing this, desiring to keep out of the rain and wind but also having an instinctively raw emotion to simple flee the area for fear of what horrific sights it may gift unto him.
Once he was under the small roof of the lonesome building which lay at the heart of the chaotic railroad lines, he then took off his drenched hat and placed it where the vacant reception area had once been. He then proceeded to pat down his water saturated trench coat in a fruitless attempt to make it less cumbersome with rainwater before he then turned his attentions back towards his hat and turned it upside down in order to release its accumulated water contents upon the ground. He then looked again at the vacant building which now protected him from the harsh elements fury and which grimy stood sentry over the nearby sheeted victims corpse.
He looked with intrigue at the closed Nickel Plate building which was supposed to have at least one policemen occupying it at all times whose main job was to chase away the multitude of hobo daredevils that scurried around the tracks and train hopped on a regular basis. Although it was supposed to be occupied at all times it appeared to have been vacant for a long period of time judging from the interiors undisturbed dust that lay upon all visible surfaces. Merlyo could clearly see through the reception area’s windows that its interior was small and cramped, reminding him of the famous London police boxes that littered the former empires great capital city and came in both colours of blue and red.
His momentary foray into British policing methods was then interrupted by a heavy gust of cold wind which once again brought him out of his pondering speculations and back into the present. He then keenly noticed that both his hat and coat where covered in a fine layer of orange filth and that this thin layer appeared to be on everything within the foreseeable distance. As he desperately tried to clean away the filthy layers from both clothes items whilst using his handkerchief, he theorized that this mysterious layer was created by the heavy use of the rusty railway boxcars within the immediate area and there undesired deposits upon the nearby train tracks. Although the authorities had transferred trains to the other adjoining tracks to avoid the homicide area, these heavily packed trains where still screaming past ever ten to fifteen minutes and spewed up a variety of fine grime into the surrounding environment.
Merlyo then sneezed and blew his wet noise as the fine dirt invaded his nostrils yet again and he had the overwhelming sensation of feeling dirty by just standing there, already making a mental note to have a long and hot shower when he left the crime scene. He found it truly fascinating that there could be so much pollution within the surrounding air whilst it relentlessly rained but he speculated that the airborne dirt was from under the abandoned nearby boxcars that littered the surrounding area with unsightly regularity. They had not been used in a good few years since The Great Depression and now lay like skeletons that littered the area with their rusting skeletal remains of orange metals and sun bleached rickety frames.
The area looked positively desolate and reminiscent of a war zone whereby many had left there rusting constructions to die at the corrosive hands of the elements a long time ago. These rusting and flaking frames now lay haphazardly upon the numerous train tracks that chaotically criss-crossed as far as the eye could see, creating a complex web of interlinked lines that used to feed the productive industrial trade. A bellowing wind managed to funnel the rain down into these vein like train track arteries which cut into the harsh landscape and accumulated nearby the vacated scene where the lonesome detective now stood. Apparently the train lines natural evolution now offered a perfect funnel to move this howling wind down and through the homicide scene with immense speed, causing the detective to intermittently hold onto both his cumbersome overcoat and hat.
Merlyo was the only detective at the scene because Zalewski was already searching another area of interest whilst Gerber was once again delayed in the usual early morning rush hour traffic. The young Cowles and another attending police officer had initially cordoned off the scene two hours ago but the Nickle Plate building and the detective could still just be seen through the skeletonised boxcar wrecks that lay across an old railways track, concealing them both but enticingly revealing themselves once the rain cleared from a solitary moment or two. The two officers were actively keeping back the small and surprisingly placid and obedient crowd which was a pleasant change over the last one at the Hart Manufacturing factory building homicide scene. The curiously on looking group were unable to cross the dusty train tracks to get a better view other than a momentary glimpse of the detective and his quarry, thus making many loose interest after only a few minutes of silent observation.
Merlyo’s dirt covered Ford was parked not that far away from the detective and just to the side of an old train signaller which was three train tracks away from his current location. He had initially struggled to find the homicide scene because of the vast array of similar landmarks which dotted the desolate train inspired landscape, creating an almost maze like effect upon the struggling detective’s confused mind as he had desperately searched for the location and only found it with the help of a local veteran resident. This confusing location was hidden due to the number of train tracks that intersected this bottled necked area and confusingly made each side street appear like the previous one. It was remarkable that he had found the location at all, especially within the same Ford that he had been using during the Mayfield Road Mob chase.
Both he and Zalewski had personally taken it to the chief engineer and asked to have it refitted and Ness had immediately approved of the measures, feeling somewhat guilty about luring them all there that unforgettable night. The Ford was now an impressive beast of new steel that uniquely contrasted with the rusted and battered area in which it now silently stood in. Although it’s new look was quickly being eliminated by the fine layer of orange rusty dust which appeared to dominate the entire area with an unchallenged and totalitarian domination.
The preoccupied detective then tentatively glanced down at the dirty sheet which encapsulated the unspeakable horror within which had four red bricks placed on either corner to prevent the wind from releasing its grotesque secret. He then sighed and took a deep breath in before he finally withdraw his trusty notepad and pen as speculative thoughts about the current crimes odd location flooded his already overly saturated mind. He glanced down at the fluttering sheet with apprehension before he took yet another deep breath in, placed on his orange tinged hat again and stepped out once more into the persistently drizzling rain.
As soon as he left the buildings shelter the rain started to attack him and frantically tap-danced on his hat’s rim again which made its own odd chorus of prolonged protest whilst he reluctantly moved ever closer to his gruesome quarry. He then knelt down and removed two of the closest bricks which had inadvertently create
d make-shift lakes within all of the cavities upon the concealing sheet, further enforcing natures grim determination to keep the shameful horror that lay beneath it hidden from prying eyes. Dirty water from the sheet then splashed onto his shaking hand before the sheet was violently blown hard which instantly revealed a repulsive sight of hideousness that only a veteran detective could have withstood. He looked at the depressingly sorry sight and could not help but vocalise his horror as the familiar sight of a grizzly dismemberment death overwhelmed his numerous senses “Jesus!”
He instinctively closed his eyes and reeled back upon seeing the ghastly sight before he then reasserted them moments later with a determined vigour in a desperate attempt to eliminate all emotional responses. He then started to immediately note down the various distressing details of this latest homicide as the ever dependable twin elements of Cleveland’s wind and rain punished him yet further for not having the foresight to bring an umbrella. It was the unfamiliar troubling sight of a freshly decapitated body whereby the head had been violently ripped off in some macabre act of supremely sadistic deviancy. The brush marked and bruised pink flesh smell was very pungent to his nostrils senses, powerfully acknowledging another distinctive signature characteristic of the depraved killer. Miraculously both arms and legs where thankfully still attached for potential fingerprint identification and this body had another distinctive difference compared to other victims in that it was remarkably covered in tattoos, slightly exciting the now cautiously optimistic detective.
The Noir Evil Page 21
