Twins of Prey II: Homecoming

by W. C. Hoffman

  Sitting on the porch watching the sun fade into the west skyline as it gave way to a collection of orange, purple, and red clouds, Henderson enjoyed her first and last meal of the day. Too tired to think, she drifted off as soon as her plate was empty to the sounds of crickets conducting their nightly symphony of harmonic chirps. This late in October complete darkness had set in by 6:30 PM and the songs of the owls would soon join in as the moon took its grasp on the night. Henderson slept there on the porch, slumped over in her lawn chair. Not dreaming, not worrying, not thinking. Just sleeping, unaware that she was being watched from the field line.

  Thirty yards apart, the two identical fully-camouflaged black teens crouched in the weeds. Scouting their next move and watching Henderson just as they had done the last few nights. Gathering intelligence on Henderson was the only goal. Of course they could have killed her on any of the nights, but this trip was different. This was a mission. Not only were they there to take her out, but they wanted to do so while leaving a message for Pine Run.

  11 Reunion

  The boys made their way out of the tall grass that hid their position just past the old decrepit yard fountain that had gone dry and now stood only to serve as a crumbling bird bath of enormous proportions. Across the mixture of open yard and cement pavers, they stalked up to the screened porch where Sheriff Henderson slept peacefully in the gliding rocking chair that swung back and forth with each passing breeze as if it was a mother and Henderson was the infant being coddled.

  The sounds of the warm Michigan fall night were present as if they had been each handpicked and placed there by Mother Nature herself. The crickets chirped, the owls hooted, and the frogs sang their final ballads before the arrival of winter which would end their frolicking ways.

  Silently, step by step, the boys made their way closer and closer. It was as if they were African lions about to pounce upon an unsuspecting antelope. The plan of attack had been discussed and set in stone prior to their arrival. This was not a capture mission, they planned to be in and out leave nothing but a dead sheriff behind.

  Stepping up on to the concrete step that led up to the side door of the porch, he looked at her. The scent of lavender filled his nostrils. There was none growing wild in the area and he knew that her body was the source. Looking at her asleep, unaware of his presence the smell made his body and mind fill with desires. Desires other than murder. His partner standing behind him was unaware of the thoughts racing through the mind of the young man in front of him.

  As he stopped on the second step, he no longer could smell the intoxicating concoction of wild flowers. The lack of wind also meant Henderson was sitting there still, asleep, not moving, not rocking, not knowing. The screen door pushed open with very little effort only catching a bit at the top where the old wood frame had swelled from years of water absorption. Now inside, they both continued the stalking of their prey and in a few short steps they took their places. Moving across the wooden floored room slowly and methodically as to not awaken their prey, the only disturbance they made was to the cricket in the corner who was less than thrilled with their presence ending his song and falling silent in fear.

  The plan was to take her out as quietly as possible. No guns, no fights, no wounds that would allow her to scream. Surrounding her, one in front the other in back they lowered a small tight piece of wire round her head where it rested briefly on her neck. The lack of wind meant that there was no cover or reasoning for the weight of the wire to be on her chest. The silence of the cricket had partially awakened Henderson and in an attempt to get comfortable she turned to her side.

  The attacker stationed behind the chair sensed her movement and tightened his grip on the wire with both hands pulling it close to him with all of his power. As he did, his fellow stalker pounced on top of Henderson’s body to hold her down. Due to her new side position the wire violently slid up her arm where it followed the path of her shoulder blade and up under her ear where it stopped for a brief second only to slice its way through the sheriff’s ear lobe and slide over the top of her head.

  The back attacker had expected the wire to catch under the chin against the throat where he would provide the strangling tension and was unprepared for it to be free in the air. Much like a contestant in a tug of war contest who is sent flying after his opponent drops the rope the boy lurched back with his hands above his head still clinging to the wire where he blasted into the glass window pane of a half-opened window. The weight of his propelled body was no match for the antique window and it broke into pieces as he fell through it coming to rest on the side of his rib cage lying, draped across the window’s sill half inside the dining room and half outside of the house.

  As Henderson’s eyes opened, she knew the familiar eyes and young black face of the boy on top of her. Though the lions, now in full attack mode wore masks, Henderson knew the face. She flashed back to her time in the river with Drake when they first met and how he had tried to drown her. Again she was on her back, only this time it was not under water. With fear in his eyes, she knew that she would have to end this battle quickly or he would be taking her life. This was not a time when her negotiating skills would be useful. She had no weapons and no help. This was survival, Henderson was again, fighting for her life.

  Pinned down, having no sense of balance to throw a punch or attempt to get up she pulled her left arm free of her struggling assailant and reached down to find his crotch. Sliding her hand down between the two of them she grabbed his testicles with all her might and squeezed while pulling with all the power that she could muster. The boy began to howl into the night like a wolf to the moon. Their goal of a silent attack was all but destroyed as he swung furiously pounding her head with strike after strike hoping she would let go of his manhood. With each fist blow to her head and face Henderson’s grip grew tighter and tighter until the pounding stopped and he fell backwards to the ground heaving in pain.

  Henderson shuffled to her feet to look behind her and saw the first lion still draped across the sill. Awake, yet confused while bleeding from the lacerations the window carved into his head and face, she saw the gun in his hand raising up at her. As if she truly was an antelope victim to their lion attack, Henderson sprung towards the window, bounding through the air with grace as she landed grabbing onto the top of the wooden window frame and slamming it closed as hard as she could. Falling to the ground in the process as her momentum carried her. The triangle-shaped section of glass that had remained intact and in the frame when he went through it, acted as a medieval guillotine as it sliced its way directly through his clothes and into his stomach severing the spinal cord near the tailbone. The razor sharp piece of dagger glass stopped as it came to rest on the bottom of the sill.

  With her weight on the top of the window sill, Henderson had just sliced the majority of his body in half with one fell swoop. Blood poured out from the abdomen and the rancid smell of his stomach contents over took the small room. Lion number one laid there motionless, bleeding out in pieces and done.

  Henderson looked back to lion number two and saw him starting to stand up. She bent down and picked up the blood drenched gun and demanded he get back down on the ground. Looking back at her and knowing he had lost the fight, the subject compiled and laid down. Keeping the boy at gun point, Henderson reached inside the doorway to the small door side counter top where there was a roll of electrical tape. The black tape would have to do in place of handcuffs and it held perfectly as she officially took the boy into custody while wrapping his hands tightly together.

  Flipping the boy over, she looked at him and asked, “How the hell did you survive?” The masked attacker looked back at her in silence.

  “Answer me goddammit, how the Hell did you get out of that cave?” Henderson yelled with her nose directly touching his. Still the boy remained silent.

  Angry at the lack of cooperative conversation, Henderson reared back and slammed the butt of the pistol into the subjects forehead rendering him unconsci
ous with a mind numbing pistol whip. The blast broke the subjects orbital bone and Henderson knew she had let her emotions take over. Justified or not, for all intent and purpose, she had just struck a handcuffed prisoner. A major violation of the law yet, under the circumstances, she couldn’t care less.

  Overcoming her rage meant that the curiosity began to grow. She began to remove the subject’s mask cause at this point she had no idea which of them was Tomek and which was Drake. She had no feelings either way, in her mind they both were already dead. Killing them had not been easy the first time and this time it proved to be the same, only this time it was not the same.

  With the mask removed and the blood wiped from his brow it was clear, while it was teenaged black males that attacked her, these were not her brothers.

  12 Angels

  The doorbell rang as Father Niko’s group of angels entered The Hawk’s Nest General Store a mere fifteen minutes before Hawkins had planned to close at 9 p.m. The familiar sound of people shuffling in and out of the store over time had made the bell mounted above the door on its frame useless for all intent and purposes. After so many years, Hawkins had grown to ignore it and it only took a few months for Sypris when she was a pup not to run to it barking her head off. Although the little guardian no longer barked she still welcomingly greeted each customer and guest in hopes for a quick petting session or sometimes even a treat.

  This time was somehow different. The bell rang and Sypris hopped up from her resting spot on the side of the cash stand. This spot had quickly become her favorite for it was right in front of the air return that provided her with heat in the winter and a cool breeze in the summer. Reaching the door she took one look at the young men walking in and while she didn’t bark the low-toned growl that emanated from the deepest part of her loins was enough for Old Man Hawkins to look up from his copy of the local newspaper where he was reading a short article on the previous week’s funeral service.

  “What the hell old man, is this thing going to bite me?” Michael said as he was the first one in the door.

  “Well now, that all depends on how much money you got to spend son,” Hawkins replied in a joking tone, but the truth was he was not too keen on having one of Niko’s boys in his store, let alone four of them. Hawkins continued, “You see, Sypris here is a pretty damned good judge of character but every now and then she gets one wrong.”

  “Judge of character, huh? You mean she don’t take a liking to black people don’t you old man?” The boy known as Gabriel Durgan spoke up basically making a racial issue where there clearly was not one to begin with.

  “Nah, I don’t think that is it. See she, is a black dog and you guys are always calling each other dawg this and dawg that. So when it comes down to it you guys and Sypris are one in the same. You feel me, dawg?” Again Hawkins’ pointed attempt at humor fell upon deaf ears.

  “Hilarious, where are your guns at?” Gabriel asked as he walked past Hawkins in a roundabout way in order to avoid passing right next to Sypris.

  Rolling his eyes, Hawkins answered him “Right over there, we haven’t moved them since you looked at them all last week Gabriel.”

  “Man, what the fuck? How do you know my mother-fucking name old man?” Gabriel asked while leaning over the counter for a closer look at the merchandise.

  “Lucky guess I suppose,” Hawkins answered annoyed that the teen was currently greasing up the glass top to the display case with his oily hand prints as he leaned against it. The truth was it was not a guess at all. All four of them were dressed in the exact same outfit. Black shorts made from a durable type of denim material and their dark green Lucky Trail polo shirts that signified they were Niko’s kids. Being higher-ranked angels meant that all of them were older and the color of their shirts was different than the normal resident troublemakers of Lucky Trail. Hawkins knew them to be the leaders, much like camp counselors. Only Father Niko never referred to them as counselors, he called them angels and these were his archangels at that.

  Not all of the boys were known to Hawkins. He of course knew Michael being that the twenty-something-year-old soft spoken young man was Niko’s number two in command. While Hawkins had no clue to the extent that Niko relied on Michael in his illegal operations, it was clear that the young man held a higher rank than the others. When he spoke, they all tended to listen.

  Looking at Michael you would not think of him as a typical type of leader. He was of average height and build and showed no violent tendencies. For being one of Niko’s, he seemed much better educated than his counterparts and carried himself in a more professional matter overall. As much as Hawkins did not really care for having the four of them shopping in the store, he was glad Michael was one of them present. This meant that the others would be somewhat behaved.

  Gabriel Durgan was everything that Michael was not. The man looked to be older than he was due to his full beard of unusual thickness and his overall build. Standing at six-foot tall, the thick and muscular man-child once had a bright future with a full ride football scholarship to become a Michigan State Spartan. Yet, as it often happens with these types of players, Gabriel Durgan was quickly removed from the team and the University as a whole after causing multiple problems in the athletic department.

  Gabriel’s mouth, combined with his complete lack of respect for any type of authority, meant he was a lost cause as a Spartan from the get go. He had been a part of Father Niko’s program at Lucky Trail as a youth and it was Niko who got him in front of the Spartan coaches to begin with. Niko knew that the Spartan football program often ignored their player’s pasts and had become a safe haven for thug types who could not get accepted elsewhere. Michigan State was the only place he could have played and Father Niko was well aware of that.

  As the angels spread out and shopped amongst themselves in the store, Hawkins walked over to the quietest of the group. Hawkins didn’t know him so introducing himself as a way of getting the boy’s name was his way of information gathering.

  “Howdy, don’t seem to have remembered meeting you,” Hawkins said as he walked up to the angel standing near a selection of ropes, chains and chainsaws. This boy would have been easy to remember and certainly hard to forget. While there was nothing particularly outstanding about his size or demeanor the young angel sported a short Mohawk hairdo and was covered in tattoos.

  No ink graced his neck or face, but what was visible of his arms, legs, and knuckles donned artwork. The eclectic mix of artwork ranged from a helmet-wearing skull to some type of an orange fish and even the likeness of a three-wheeling all-terrain vehicle was present. The letters scribed across his knuckles were unreadable to Hawkins, but what they said was not important. The fact that they existed was enough for the old man to judge him as being troubled. Any young person who could endure that amount of pain was doing so for a reason other than art.

  “They call me ‘Hawkins’ or just ‘Old Man’,” he said while sticking his hand out and waiting for a response.

  “DC,” the boy replied not offering a return handshake.

  “Just DC?” Hawkins asked.

  “Yea, just DC.” Said the boy who knew what question was coming next as if he had answered it a thousand times before.

  “Well, nice to meet you DC, so what does DC...?” Hawkins was in the middle of his question when the boy looked up and interrupted him.

  “Douglas Charles, it was my pops name too. So my family called me DC. You need any more of my life story, old man?” DC said asking the question not really wanting an answer.

  “Nope, I guess not.” He said. “Let me know if there is anything I can help you find,” Hawkins halfheartedly commented offering his assistance knowing it would not be needed nor asked for.

  Looking around the room, Hawkins could not decide if they were shopping or casing the store for a future afterhours break in. Each angel spread out into a different section as if they had planned exactly what each was supposed to be looking for.

  While Michael had lingere
d about in the knives, Gabriel stood at the gun counter looking annoyed that he could not pick each one up and hold it at his free will due to its being secured. DC walked up and down the aisles of ammunition with a basket loaded with various types of lead. Hand gun ammunition combined with rifle cartridges and even buckshot shotgun loads filled his basket. Hawkins watched as the tattooed boy’s arms grabbed each box. DC was not paying attention to price, but he selected each box with caution making sure that they filled a spot on the list he held in his opposite hand.

  The last of the angels had headed straight for the back hardware section of the store and was looking at various tools but kept returning to and picking up the reciprocating saws that Hawkins had on display. Aren Brooks was by far the tallest of Niko’s angels and was easy to see from the front where Hawkins’ stood as the boy towered over the six- foot-tall shelving units.

  Another one of Father Niko’s star athletes, Brooks also had the opportunity to attend a free trip to college but for some reason never went. Father Niko had arranged for him to swim at a small school located in the thumb of Michigan’s lower peninsula. Brooks stood over 6’7” tall and was thin enough to glide through the water with tremendous speed. Father Niko welcomed him back to Lucky Trail where he served not only as an angel but as the facility’s life guard covering the pool and beach areas. His black general issue military-style glasses seemed too small for his head but they remained in place with a tethering strap attached to each earpiece. Other than his height, nothing else stuck out about this angel, but Hawkins could tell that of all of them he was the best educated. Maybe it was the glasses or maybe it was because he was the one looking at tools not weapons. Hawkins was not sure, but he had a feeling that Brooks would be the easiest of the four to talk with.