Chapter 49
Diablo was hiding in the shadows behind one of the two-story houses that lined the street. He watched as a car slowly drifted by, it’s occupants shining a flashlight between the houses as it passed. He shrunk back a little further in the bushes hoping that they wouldn’t see him.
After the car passed, Diablo crept to the back door of the house, thinking that it would be much easier to hide inside of one of these houses, than outside. He carefully tried the doorknob, and found it locked. Damn, he thought, now I’ll have to break the window to get in.
Diablo struck the windowpane closest to the doorknob with his elbow, shattering it. He swept the glass shards out of the frame, reached in through the opening, and unlocked the door. Turning the knob, he entered the dark house.
Inside the house, Diablo listened intently to see if he heard any people moving about or whispering. Emboldened by the silence, he crept through the kitchen to the living room. He stopped again, listening for any sounds, but again, he heard none.
Diablo walked through the house a little less cautiously now, looking at family photos on the walls, and checking out the liquor cabinet. The liquor cabinet was unlocked, and he opened it and spied a bottle of twelve-year-old scotch. He pulled the bottle out and cracked the seal on the cap. Diablo raised the bottle to his lips and took a long swig. The brown liquid was delicious, but burned like fire going down his throat. It seemed for a second to suck the oxygen out of his lungs, and this caused him to cough involuntarily.
Diablo set the bottle down cursing himself for his stupidity, and listened again for noises. He thought he heard a rustling noise coming from one of the rooms upstairs. Carefully, Diablo tiptoed through the living room toward the stairs. Suddenly, it occurred to Diablo that he hoped that the house was not vacant, so he could harvest more souls. He crept back to the kitchen and grabbed a large knife and a meat tenderizer mallet.
Diablo carefully climbed the stairs, testing every step before putting his full weight on it. He did not want to step on a creaky step and tip his victims off. At the top of the stairs, there was a bedroom on the right. The room was dark, and quiet. Children’s toys littered the floor, and made it nearly impossible to walk through the room. When Diablo finally made it to the bed, he whipped back the sheets and discovered that the bed was empty.
Diablo crept back out of the room and tiptoed to the next bedroom on the right. This room seemed to belong to a teenage or adolescent girl. Posters of boy bands decorated the walls, and there was a pink desk with a pink lampshade on a white lamp on the desk. Clothes lay scattered all over the floor, and Diablo picked his way to the bed, rubbing his hands together like a silent film villain. When he pulled the covers back, he realized that this bed was also vacant.
What the hell is going on here? he thought. Maybe there’s nobody home, after all. Diablo moved less cautiously, thinking that he was wasting his time being cautious, if nobody was here. When he came to the last bedroom, he flicked on the light, and instantly regretted it. Standing before him was a little old lady with a double barrel shotgun in her hands. She looked to be about eighty years old, and had a full head of white hair.
“Strip,” she ordered him. Startled, he dropped the knife, which clattered to the floor and slid under a dresser nearby. Not knowing what else to do, Diablo peeled off his clothes. Tossing him a set of handcuffs, she ordered him to lie on his back on the bed and handcuff himself to the head of the bed. He reluctantly complied, feeling more foolish by the second.
“My name is Tilly, and my husband died years ago, and it’s been years since I had a gentleman caller,” she said.
“Can I have a blindfold, at least,” Diablo pleaded.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tilly said, “I want you to remember every detail for years to come.”
Diablo shuttered, and tried to clamp his eyes closed as the old lady undoubtedly was stripping off her clothes. He heard an item of clothing drop to the floor. That was probably her robe, he thought. Diablo shuttered as he heard other clothing items drop to the floor. He felt her weight on the bed, and desperately clamped his eyes closed as tightly as he could. Suddenly he felt his eyelid being pulled open and discovered to his horror that Tilly was taping his eyelids open. Next, she forced a pill down his throat.
“What was that?” he gasped.
“Viagra. I wouldn’t want you to quit on me early,” she said.
The next hour and a half would haunt Diablo for the rest of his life. The old lady was very vigorous for someone of such advanced years, and Diablo thought to himself that he’d now been violated by both a bull and an old lady.
When she had finished with him, Tilly gave Diablo a wink, which made him shudder, and said “Now wasn’t it worth it?”
Diablo suddenly felt the urge to vomit, and turned his head to the side and retched all over the bed. Tilly looked at him in disgust and said, “At least I didn’t shoot you.”
Diablo mumbled “I wish you had.”
Chapter 50
Steve heard a call come over the radio, indicating that a house had been broken into nearby, and that the suspect was being held for the police. Steve answered the radio telling the dispatcher that he and Tom were in the area and would respond.
Upon arrival, Steve and Tom were greeted by a little old lady, who introduced herself to them as Tilly Armbruster. Tilly told them about the stranger who had broken into her house, and showed them the window that had been shattered on the back door. She led them upstairs to her bedroom, where a naked man lay handcuffed to her bed. Steve and Tom both did a double take. An eighty-year-old woman who stood barely four and a half feet tall had captured the most dangerous fugitive they had ever seen. Not only had she captured him, but it appeared as if she had tortured him judging by the fact that he was handcuffed naked to the bed, and had apparently barfed all over the bed.
Diablo looked pleadingly at Steve and Tom, and with tears in his eyes, begged them to take him to jail. Taking in the whole scene, it suddenly hit Steve. “Oh my gosh! Tilly you old rascal!” said Steve. Instantly Tom also understood, and the two of them laughed so hard their sides started hurting. Tilly was blushing, but looked quite proud of herself.
Tom put another set of handcuffs on Diablo, and cuffed him behind his back. Steve took a pair of pants that Tilly gave him, and pulled them onto Diablo. Then he pulled a t-shirt over Diablo’s head and down over his arms. Steve noticed that Diablo had a raging boner, and shook his head. He scolded Diablo, saying, “ you should be ashamed of yourself, taking advantage of a sweet little old lady like that.” Diablo looked like he was going to throw up again, and croaked “helpless? Hardly.” Tom handed the set of handcuffs back to Tilly, who winked at him and said, “are you sure that you couldn’t stay for a little while, officer?”
Steve felt Diablo shudder as he escorted him out of the room.
“No, ma’am,” said Tom, “our work here is done.”
“Pity,” said Tilly, “it would have been fun.”
Chapter 51
Fred and Melissa sat in the living room of their house. It was six months since those criminals had nearly killed Melissa, and she was still recovering. When she had been admitted to the hospital, nobody had thought that she would survive. She had seven broken ribs, a punctured lung, broken bones in her cheeks and nose, and internal bleeding. The doctors had told her that it was a miracle she had survived.
Her wounds had healed, but she felt damaged emotionally. How could someone be so callous? They had left her to die without a second thought. Melissa had seen the news reports, and understood that two of the three criminals had been caught, but that the third one was still at large.
Fred was still furious about the whole ordeal, and Melissa had to talk him out of driving to the courthouse to watch the trials that ensued. In some ways, she thought that Fred had been hit harder by this than she had. He still had nightmares, and often awoke screaming and thrashing about like he was fighting some invisible enemy.
> George and his wife had been grateful for Fred’s help, and had offered to help Fred fix his house, but Fred refused, saying that fixing the house relaxed him. Melissa knew that Fred just didn’t want George to see him get emotional as he pieced together all of their broken and torn pictures.
The trials had been quick and fairly uneventful, and in the end, both had been sentenced to death for multiple counts of first-degree murder. Diablo had acted completely unrepentant, but Doc had acted puzzled and confused during most of his trail. When the verdict had been read, Diablo stood up and mooned the jury, which sent a loud gasp and even a scream through the jurors. Considering the ordeal he had suffered, this was a particularly disgusting thing to do.
Doc had passed out in the middle of the courtroom when the verdict was read and the sentence was imposed by the judge. He apparently couldn’t believe that this was happening to him. He felt that he should be recognized for his skills as a doctor.
Fred heard a rumor that the third criminal, the one they called Slasher, had fled the United States and moved to Canada or Europe. Fred hoped that they would catch him too, because he feared that this criminal might return to finish the job.
Every time Fred would go out at night to check on the animals, he would imagine some psycho lurking in the shadows waiting to kill him. He knew that this feeling would pass eventually, and scolded himself for being so foolish, but that didn’t seem to make it any easier.
Melissa had her share of nightmares, and kept waking up in the middle of the night thinking that someone had snuck into their house. Fred had been so understanding, and had gotten up and checked the house every time she had asked him to. The first time she had done this, Fred had been so asleep that he had grabbed his shotgun and nearly shot the cat.
The community had pitched together and had paid for Melissa’s hospital bills, for which they were grateful. Every week the two detectives, Steve and Tom had stopped by to make sure they were doing well. Melissa thought that Tom felt guilty about having to leave her to try to catch the criminals, but she has assured him that he had done the right thing. He had, after all, saved her life.
Epilogue
On a dark street in Chicago, a figure emerged from the shadows, and was illuminated by the streetlights. His face was shaded from view by the hat he wore low on his brow. He wore a Cubs jacket, and looked completely unremarkable at first glance. People passing by never gave him a second thought, which was the way he liked it. There was an art to blending in, and Slasher was an expert. It had taken him several weeks to bicycle here from Southern Indiana, but he had arrived here without fanfare, and without getting caught by the police. He had seen a back alley surgeon when he arrived in Chicago, and now, a year later, his jaw looked as normal as it ever could. He grew a beard and had a ponytail now, and looked so different that no one would ever recognize him from the wanted posters he had seen in the post office.
Slasher was working at a garage, and earning enough money to survive, but not comfortably. His plan was to lay low for a while, build a new identity, and then cross the border into Canada, where he could be free at last. He had a new identity, thanks to a counterfeiter he had met, and he had changed his appearance. As long as he stayed out of trouble and stuck to the shadows, he should be just fine.
He wasn’t fond of the job, but it gave credibility to his new identity, and it helped him pay the bills. Slasher vowed to try to appear legit at least until he made it to Canada. He wished he could find work as a salesman, but he knew that he would just kill again if he did, so he preferred to take a job where he would never have to deal with people.
The trip had been difficult, especially when he had run out of food. Learning to trap and eat squirrels had been a challenge, but he had risen to the challenge, and had survived. He hadn’t appreciated how far away Chicago had been, and it seemed to take forever for him to arrive there.
Life in Chicago had been even tougher, because everything cost money, which he didn’t have. He had robbed a few drunks until he got enough money to eat and pay for a room at a seedy hotel. They had been easy targets, and they would be unlikely to remember his face when they reported it to the police.
The back alley surgeon had been nightmarish, and had used a glass of whiskey to sterilize the instruments. After the procedure, the quack actually drank the whiskey, which was left in the glass. The procedure was a blur to him now, and he had tried to forget it. On a positive note, however, his jaw was fully operational now, and he was sure that the surgery was unreported.
Slasher had found a document expert who was able to make him a fake Illinois driver license and Social Security card, and after robbing a few more drunks, he was able to pay for these documents. Now he had a new identity, and could travel more freely. His new name was George Blutowski, in homage to John Belushi’s character in the movie Animal House.
With his new identity, Slasher applied for a job at a garage. The job paid minimum wage at the beginning, but he was good with his hands and got pay promotions quickly. He liked the work, and could easily settle for this life, but he always had the nagging feeling that someone was watching him, and he knew that if he screwed up and got caught, he would be back in prison for the rest of his life. This time, he was sure, they would bury him in some creepy cell deep below the prison, where he would never see daylight again.
Slasher bought a set of throwing knives with the money he was earning at the garage, and set up a target behind the garage. Whenever he went on break, and sometimes after work, he would practice throwing the knives at the target. Eventually, he got so good that he couldn’t miss. Next, he hung the target from a rope and swung it, so he could practice hitting a moving target. He taught himself to throw the knives between his legs and over his shoulder, as well as blindfolded. After practicing for a year, he was good enough that word spread, and people would line up in the alley behind the garage to see him throw knives. Slasher’s boss, Fred Thompson, started charging people five dollars each, to see Slasher throw knives. At the end of the day, Fred had collected two hundred dollars, which he split sixty/forty with Slasher.
This continued for six months, until one night a tall man in a black coat appeared out of the shadows. He handed Slasher a business card and asked him if he wanted to travel the world and thrill larger audiences. The card indicated that the man’s name was John Sinestro, and that he was the owner of a circus. Suddenly, it occurred to Slasher that he would be able to escape to another country with complete anonymity by joining the circus under his false name, and assuming a stage name. Once out of the United States, he could travel wherever he wanted.
Slasher shook the man’s hand and agreed to join the circus. Although Fred was heartbroken at losing the extra income and his best mechanic, he reluctantly agree to let Slasher go, knowing that Slasher was to good to perform for crowds in a alley behind a garage.
Slasher went back to his rented room, and gathered all of his belongings, which took about ten minutes, and the next day he took a train to the address that the man had given him.
Slasher could see the circus tents in the field from the train station. Large, gaudy striped tents were set up in the middle of a field. A midway and smaller tents seemed to lead the way to the largest tent. “No wonder they call it the ‘big top’,” mumbled Slasher to himself.
A voice behind him said, “Welcome to your new home, George.”
Slasher jumped about a foot, and spun around in surprise. John Sinestro stood behind him on the train platform with a slightly amused look on his face.
“Glad you could make it, my boy,” Sinestro said.
“Thanks,” said Slasher, “I was looking for a change.”
“Well, you found one, all right,” said Sinestro. “How would you like me to show you around?”
“Sure,” said Slasher.
Following Sinestro, Slasher entered the park through the service entrance. The smell of hay, peanuts, and cotton candy instantly hit Slasher’s nostrils, reminding him of h
is childhood before his parents had died. His dad had taken him to a circus like this when he was eight years old, and Slasher had been amazed. Slasher had thought at the time, that it would be really fun to join the circus, now years later, here he was.
As Slasher entered the gate, a great weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. He knew that circus workers were like a tight-knit family, and they would protect him if needed. For the first time in many years, he felt like he was finally free.
********
Foreword
I started writing this story while in college many years ago. I wasn’t even married at the time. In one of my wife’s spring-cleaning moods she found it. I had probably written about five hundred words, but she encouraged me to sit down and write. As a good husband that I am, I decided to do just that. It was much better than helping her clean. She is a drill sergeant when she decides to clean and loves delegating. LOL.
I hope you like the end result. I would greatly appreciate your thoughts and ratings.
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About the Author
I am a native Floridian who lives in North Florida. When I was young, my brother and I moved several times with our parents. Some of my fondest memories of childhood were spent in a small town in Indiana in a much more innocent time, when people never locked their doors.
I enjoy mystery, comedy, and a touch of the absurd. I owe this to the years I lived in Miami, and to my favorite authors, Dave Berry, Carl Hiaasen, and Donald E. Westlake. As a teenager, I read as many books as I could find by these fine authors, and read many editorial columns by Mr. Berry.
As soon as I was old enough, I joined the Army, and owe much of my independence and self-discipline to the years spent there. I have an immense amount of respect for the men and women of our military, and most of my extended family are veterans as well.
I spent nearly thirty years of my life as a police officer after I got out of the Army, and worked with some of the most loyal, dependable, self-sacrificing people in the world. Despite the long hours and terrible conditions we often found ourselves in, day after day we still got the job done right.
Getaway Page 13
