“I beat you,” he whispered to his father, just as he did every time he came to see him. “I know you're in there,” T-Bone said. “I beat you. Life beat you. I win.”
T-Bone kept his voice low. He burned with his failure and looked with hatred at the sick, helpless man before him.
“And when I leave you here and stop paying your rent, I'd hate to be where they're gonna put you. They'll turn you out into the street, a homeless bum, where you’ll freeze to death if you're not eaten for dinner by the other bums first.”
His father laughed, a grunt really, but it thundered into T-Bone's head. He grabbed the old man by the collar of the cheap robe he wore.
“Don't you laugh at me! Don't you fucking laugh at me!”
Several orderlies ran to pull T-Bone away from the old man, but T-Bone pulled a handgun. The orderlies fell to the floor. Someone screamed. T-Bone looked around and knew he had made a mistake. The hospital people would call the police and then they would know that he was still in Detroit.
T-Bone looked at his father, who had fallen to the floor. T-Bone trained the gun on him. His hand trembled, then he put the gun away and ran.
T-Bone went into the underground parking lot. He stopped to catch his breath in the dim light of the structure. It was cold and a draft snaked at his ankles. He walked to his car.
A car raced toward him. It had backed out of a space across from where he had parked. T-Bone tried to jump out of its path, but it hit him, lifting him off his feet and sending him across the lot. T-Bone hit the concrete with a thud. He tried to get up, but he was disoriented and his legs felt like they weighed a ton.
“Dammit, dammit,” T-Bone cried, reaching for his gun, which was gone. It was a police hitman, he thought. Once again, his father had managed to screw up his life, only this time, Big Teddy would cause him to die.
T-Bone heard footsteps and soon sensed a presence standing behind him. He waited for a gun to be thrust against his head and the sound of an explosion, fading into nothingness, but it did not happen. Instead, he was lifted to his feet, where he saw the grown-up face of a man, a face that once belonged to Talmadge Williams. Who should have died in the woods long ago.
“Oh, God--”
The Handyman held T-Bone's gun, which had dislodged when he was hit by the car. The killer hit T-Bone in the face with the weapon, taking his victim into a cave of darkness.
21
Finished Business
Magilla watched Steve Mayo divide the last of the drugs and dispatch the fresh-faced kids to sell it. Magilla's eyes were red with ruptured blood vessels from Medina use. He wanted to take a hit now, but he only had a little left. No one could make Medina anymore, so he had to make it last.
Magilla's clothes hung from his frame. He always wanted to be thinner, but could never muster the willpower to stay on a diet. Now, he could not remember the last time he had eaten. It did not matter really, because he was evolving, becoming a new and more powerful form of human being.
Magilla was motionless, his breathing was in slow, measured rhythm as he watched Mayo through a crack in one of the boarded-up windows.
It had been difficult to find Mayo with all of the chaos in the street. Everyone was hiding out, waiting for the craziness to be over. It had cost Magilla some of his precious Medina to get the necessary information, but it was worth it.
Medina's latest miracle for Magilla was his new invincibility. He'd acquired the power to withstand great violence and heal himself instantly. He'd been thinking that Mayo might try to kill him, but now he had no worries. Nothing could hurt him now.
Just last week, Magilla had stepped in front of a car to test his new abilities. He was hit, but had gotten up unharmed. Several people in the crowd gasped in amazement. He ran away quickly before someone tried to hold him for the police, the news people or worse, doctors. He would not share his new powers, at least not until he used them to kill Mayo.
At first, Magilla thought the test with the car was a dream, because right after it was over, he found himself at home in bed. But he had been blacking out a lot lately (a minor side effect from his new powers). He had probably had a spell right after he got home.
He would kill Mayo with his bare hands and absorb all of his life energy. He'd known all along that Mayo's life force was special. Mayo was evil, powerful, and when Magilla had Mayo's power inside of him, there would be nothing that he couldn't do.
After the young kid left with his drugs, Magilla walked up to the door and went inside.
Mayo was sitting on an old lumpy sofa. When he saw Magilla, he stood and pulled a small .22 automatic from his waistband. His face showed his shock.
“Glad I didn't have to come lookin' for you, gorilla,” Mayo said. “You cost me a lot of money and I want it back, all of it.”
Magilla smiled lazily, pointing at the gun. “That ain't gone help you now, muthafucka.” Magilla walked toward Mayo. “I got you now.”
Mayo fired two shots into Magilla's chest. Magilla stopped as if waiting. He placed his hand on his chest and fell to one knee. He coughed loudly, then fell on his back.
Mayo's heart beat wildly. Why had this fool just come in and let himself get shot?
“Must be crazy on that shit,” Mayo said out loud.
Mayo wiped the gun clean of fingerprints and threw it into a corner. Then he gathered the drugs and got ready to leave. He didn't have the time or the desire to get rid of Magilla's body. He quickly moved to the door, thinking that he'd have to find a new location soon.
Something scrambled behind him-movement, like a weight shifting.
“What the--”
Mayo turned and saw the drug-ravaged face of Magilla. Two bloodless holes were on the front of his large shirt.
Mayo dropped some of his cargo in shock and stared, transfixed by the dead man. Then his eyes went to his gun in the corner, a million miles away.
Magilla smiled, his teeth red with blood.
“Now, it's my turn,” he said.
**********
Tony approached the old abandoned house on Hempstead. It was nearly dark outside. He rolled his Ford up the street, dodging the big potholes.
The block looked like it had been hit by a bomb. Only a few houses looked habitable. Tony stopped his car a few houses away from the Williams house. He got out and crossed the street to survey the situation.
The Williams house was a wreck. The aluminum siding was buckled and rusted on its steel screws. The chimney had collapsed, there was a big hole in the roof and the lawn was waist high in weeds. He walked to the porch of another house that looked to be uninhabited and waited for signs of life in the Williams place.
Few questions about the case remained for Tony. The Handyman had spared the women and Jonnel Washington's hands at Shalon Street because they were not in the group of men who had killed his brother, Carlton Williams. The Nelson brothers were killed because they were related to Randy Thellis. The Handyman could not kill Thellis because he was already dead.
But Tony could not figure out why the killer collected the hands of his victims. Perhaps the Handyman felt as though he punished them beyond death by taking them. The blond hair had to be planted to throw everyone off track. The computer had confirmed that Carlton Williams was black, so his brother was, too.
And the money. Well, everybody needs money, even a killer.
After about twenty minutes, Tony decided to go inside. He crossed the street and went around the back of the house through the thick weeds.
When he got to the back of the one-story house, Tony saw a door. Every other opening was boarded up and yet this one was still functional.
Tony pulled his Beretta and walked carefully to the door. He did not want to kick it in because if there was no one inside, he would be leaving a clue of his visit. He tried the doorknob and the cheap door opened without even a creak. He entered, walking in a shooting crouch, his gun in front of him.
The stench was incredible. It was as if every toilet in the nei
ghborhood had backed up and flowed into the house. Tony squinted in the darkness of the room. The boards on the windows cut off the light, and very little came in from the fading sunset outside. He held the gun in a shooting crouch for a moment, looking for a shift in shadow, the sound of movement.
When his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw that the back door had opened into a kitchen that was foul and dirty. And definitely inhabited.
Talmadge Williams gripped the steering wheel so tightly he felt he would crush it. Blood and adrenaline raced through him, making him a little dizzy.
He slowed the car down. He could not afford to be stopped by the police. They might find the man in the trunk.
He'd screwed up on Butchie, but he was going back for him tomorrow. He would have to keep T-Bone alive until Butchie could be obtained and killed. He could kill T-Bone now, but that would ruin everything. They had to die in order-first the flunkies, then the leader. That's how he'd seen it in his mind so many times.
The dealers had killed his brother, Carlton. He was made to watch Carlton die and, after it was done, the dealers had shot him and left him to die. But he did not die.
He managed to get to the highway that night and passed out. He was picked up by a man driving a semi. Two days later, he awoke in a county hospital bed with tubes flowing out of his body.
The nurses kept asking him his name, but he would not answer. When the police came to question him about the gunshot, he had pretended to be unconscious.
Talmadge had escaped from the hospital three days later, still in pain. He stole an orderly uniform, begged for money on the street, and caught a bus home.
When he got home, he found his mother unconscious from drinking. He didn't know what to do, so he called his mother's boyfriend, a man who came around every once in a while.
When he found the killers, Talmadge wanted to kill them, but he couldn't. He was just a skinny kid back then. So, he waited. Patience. That was his greatest asset. He planned his revenge. He trained at a special place and grew bigger, stronger, and smarter.
When his mother discovered that Carlton was dead, she cried for hours, then got drunk. The next day, she ran a warm bath, got in, and cut her wrists. She left a letter which said Carlton's death was her fault.
Talmadge was grief-stricken. The drug dealers had taken everything from him. And that's when he began to dream. He saw the deaths of the killers each time he closed his eyes. He became obsessed with them and carefully and meticulously planned their deaths.
Talmadge trained, grew stronger, and dreamed of finding and killing the drug dealers. He lost sight of everything else in life. He lived only for the day when they were all dead. And soon, Big Money Grip lay on the ground at Belle Isle, cut to pieces.
And each time he killed, he took their hands as a reminder of his brother's death. Each night he dreamed of how Carlton was killed. He saw his brother tied to a tree, his body being ripped to pieces, the dealers' murderous faces and their hands-- covered with thick lines of blood.
**********
Mayo tried not to look at the gun in the corner. The weapon was closer to Magilla. Mayo kept his eyes on Magilla, trying not to attract attention to the weapon.
Magilla took a step toward Mayo, then jerked suddenly to his right and picked up the gun from the floor. Mayo turned and ran toward the back door.
Mayo was hit by a bullet. It entered his left shoulder. He fell and landed on his face and heard himself grunt loudly.
“Now,” said Magilla standing over him. “You will die, just for me.”
Magilla put the gun to the back of Mayo's head.
Mayo's shoulder ached as Magilla turned him over on his back and sat on him. Magilla pinned his arms down.
Magilla's crotch was right in front of his face and it didn't smell good. Magilla was thinner, but still a heavy man. He stuck the gun under Mayo's nose and laughed.
Mayo stared at the barrel of the gun. He started to yell to Magilla to shoot and get it over with, but he would not give the bastard the satisfaction. He was not going out like a punk. The pain in his shoulder flared up and he felt tears welling in his eyes.
Magilla breathed heavily as he shifted his weight and pulled the gun back. He then removed the clip and placed it in his pocket. Magilla then dropped the gun beside his victim and began to choke him.
Mayo gagged as the fingers closed on his throat. It was a tight grip, but not the crushing one that he had expected. He was weak, thought Mayo, weak ‘cause he was hit twice. Mayo struggled beneath the larger man, trying to free his good arm.
“Yes, yes,” Magilla whispered, as if he felt pleasure.
Mayo moved his mouth to Magilla's hand and bit into it as hard as he could.
Magilla screamed and gripped harder momentarily. Mayo sank his teeth in deeper and felt a section of the hand separate. Blood spilled over the corners of his mouth and down his neck.
Magilla wailed again and yanked his hands from Mayo's neck, leaving part of one in Mayo's mouth. Magilla rocked to the side and Mayo used all of the force he had to dislodge him from his chest. Magilla toppled from him, landing on his side, screaming.
Mayo spat out the meat in his mouth and faintly heard it hit the floor. He stood and forced air into his lungs. He retrieved the gun and turned to see Magilla lunging at him.
Mayo raised the gun with his good arm. He pointed it at Magilla's face and pulled the trigger. The gun's last bullet, still loaded in the chamber, fired and blew a hole in Magilla's forehead. The bullet tore through Magilla' s ravaged brain and lodged here.
The big man landed on Mayo and they both fell to the floor. The gun flew out of Mayo's hand. Magilla lay on Lop of Mayo, gurgling incoherently. Mayo pushed the dead man from him and scrambled away.
Mayo got to his feet. A rush of pain and dizziness almost sent him to one knee. Mayo collected himself and stood, pushing his hand into his shoulder to stop the blood.
He fished the clip from Magilla's pocket and put it back in the gun. Good thing Magilla didn't know anything about guns except how to pull the trigger. An automatic loads a bullet in the chamber after each shot.
Mayo fired two more shots into Magilla's head. Then he tore off part of Magilla's bloody shirt and wrapped it around his shoulder.
He saw that beneath his shirt, Magilla wore two heavy, quilted vests. Mayo recognized the name “Mt. Carmel Hospital” printed in bright red. Those were x-ray vests, Mayo thought. He'd had to wear one after getting shot once. He laughed a little. Magilla thought the vests would protect him.
Mayo headed toward the back door. He was wet with blood and stank of sweat. He was going to try to drive, but he was not looking forward to it.
A police siren cut through the silence with a short blast.
“This is the police,” said a female voice. “Throw out your weapon and come out with your hands on your head.”
“Shit!” Mayo said. Usually when people called the police, the cops came late. And with all the disorder in the streets these days, they picked now to be on time.
**********
Tony was careful not to touch anything in the room. He could see roaches scurrying over the surfaces and walls.
The house was crudely constructed. The back door opened into the kitchen which opened into a dining room which opened into a living room. The two bedrooms were off the dining and living rooms.
Tony entered the dining room. I t was empty, except for several pieces of old furniture and garbage.
The living room was right next to the dining room, separated by a large archway. It contained only an old sofa and chair. Tony could see partially into the kitchen from the living room.
Tony checked the one-story house's two bedrooms and found the master bedroom surprisingly neat with an old mattress and covers on it. The other bedroom was empty.
Tony was about to go in the basement, but he found the stairway leading to it completely gone. The house was secure. He hoped.
Tony went back into the dirty kitchen. The roo
m was dark, save for a little light coming through the boarded-up back door. He hit a light switch and to his surprise, the light came on, dimly illuminating the room.
He opened the refrigerator and checked the contents. It was filled with junk food. In the back of the freezer, Tony saw a large, plastic container covered with tin foil.
He held it up to the light, careful to hold only the edges but couldn't sec anything, He understood that anything he found would not be admissible in court, but he was beyond that now.
Tony set his Beretta down on the kitchen table and opened the container. Inside, neatly sealed in plastic bags, were the missing hands of the dead men. He opened the container to make sure of what he saw. The hands were grayish with blood caked at the ends. His stomach churned.
Tony was placing the tin foil back on the container, when the back door opened and the faint sound of it was like an explosion. Tony turned and saw the silhouette of a big man holding up another man.
Tony managed to grab his gun from the table, but the big man was moving toward him and shoved the man he held at Tony. The weight knocked Tony down. Tony's gun fired, and he felt the hot streak of a bullet enter and leave his side. Tony dropped the Beretta.
Tony was propelled backward, through the doorway that separated the kitchen and the dining room. He landed in the latter.
Tony pushed at the body on top of him and saw a man's bruised face. Thick adhesive tape covered T-Bone's mouth and his eyes were wide with fear.
T-Bone screamed, stretching the tape across his mouth. Tony pushed him up, using him as a shield, waiting for bullets to fly.
Blood spilled from Tony's wound and down his leg. T-Bone's hands were tied behind him and he desperately tried to hit Tony, realizing what he meant to do. T-Bone kicked, but Tony held him tight, knowing that shots would be fired at them.
Cold Medina Page 29
