“Bro, you can’t kick a mobster’s ass. Have you ever seen Mobydick?” Jim’s eyebrows shot up and dared them to answer the question. “The last time he was arrested, on the news?”
“Yeah, he’s more like a monster truck.”
“Jenny, show them!” Joey almost ripped Jenny’s sleeve in his haste to show them her bandage.
“Joey, please!” Jenny struggled against him. Brett stood up and took a few steps toward Jenny, but stopped mid-stride when Joey gave him a menacing glare.
Jenny pushed her sleeve down to show them her damaged shoulder. Joey pulled his shirt up, showing his own bruises. “And you’re telling us to calm down!? And, they got to Kevin, too! What’s really going on?”
Joey rubbed his hands together. “Wait, if you don’t have enough money for the business, why are you still making deposits into my account?” he asked Jim. “I’m sure your promise to Dad can be over now.”
“I haven’t been sending you money.” Jim’s forehead creased and he turned toward Brett.
Brett’s gaze zipped around the room like a trapped animal. “Okay, okay. You got me. Yes, I’ve been depositing money into your account, Joey. And Jim, why do you think the books are showing credit when you thought they should have been in the red?”
“What are you saying, bro?” Joey’s voice soft in his confusion.
Brett’s face fell, his puffy, tired eyes pronounced. He sank onto the oversized ottoman and placed his arms on his knees, his head in his hands. He rubbed his pale face, not quite ready to tell his story.
“When I sold my business,” Brett began a moment later, “I knew Dad was gambling. I followed him one night to Oakland and saw him enter one of the buildings there.” He gave Jim a pensive glance. “Not the one with the ramp, but one on the next block over. I confronted him when he came out at five-thirty in the morning. Nothing decent happens at five-thirty in the morning after you’ve stayed up all night.” He sighed.
“At first, he didn’t admit it, but when I wouldn’t give in, he told me everything. He cried and I cried with him. He was deep in debt with the gangster and his mob, and every time he went over there to try to get out of debt, he’d go in deeper. It was a vicious cycle.”
“One cycle Mobydick encouraged!” Joey felt like shouting. “I’m going to kill him!”
“First of all,” Jim interjected, “Dad, if you will remember, was a grown man. Second, you can’t kill a man like Mobydick.”
“Anyway,” Brett pressed on, “when I sold the cyber-security business, I invested the money, and I’m receiving a decent return. A part of the investment is going to Joey, and another part is being put back into the business.”
There was shocked silence from the brothers.
“Even though I’m adopted,” Brett continued softly, “I love you guys.”
Brett flinched when Joey bounded over to the ottoman where he was sitting. They’d had their run-ins with each other, and flinching was instinct. Joey surprised him as he fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around Brett, crying.
“I’m sorry, Brett. I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell us?”
Brett pushed Joey’s arms away so he could express himself. Jenny joined them, kneeling beside Joey and grabbing for his hand. Her tears were flowing too.
“Joey, I know you loved Dad with all your heart,” Brett said. “I also knew by the time you were a teenager, Dad was heavily involved in his gambling. I saw the frustration and disappointment on your face when he promised to do something with you and reneged time after time. Then… when Mom died…”
Jim came over and sat on the ottoman next to Brett. He placed his hand on Brett’s back. “Thank you, Brett. You will never know my gratitude for what you’ve done. You’re a true brother.”
***
Barry stayed quiet, sitting in the corner of the family room while the brothers had their bonding moment. He didn’t want to tell them about his conversation with the doctor. He wasn’t ready to divulge that yet.
He now knew the doctor wasn’t lying. Farkis was experimenting with his surgeries, obvious when Barry heard about the delivery of the bodies. Did Farkis hired Mobydick and his knuckleheads to guard the warehouse?
And, yes, he now remembered where he’d heard the name Headbanger. In the dark, when the homeless gathered around the fire; they were afraid. But who, or what, is Headbanger?
Barry wasn’t sure what to make of this new information, wondering if he’d have to rethink his plan for his life.
No, he had to stay steadfast. The doctor was his only hope. He’d keep mum and go with the flow. But he knew one thing. He had to stick with these new friends. They had the ingredients to help him get inside and confront the doctor: anger and revenge. Mix that with his own ingredient, hope, and together, if he used their energies, he could get what he wanted most. A new and improved body.
Chapter 24
Basement Experiments - Oakland
A few days after the senator had met with the gangster, his secretary barged into his office, interrupting a phone call with Oakland’s mayor.
“Adam Ranskin wants to talk to you and says it’s urgent,” she said. She opened the video conferencing from Terry’s computer before she left, shutting the door behind her.
Adam’s face popped up on the screen and a frown appeared on his otherwise jovial face.
“What’s up, Adam? You’re not still sore about our last golf game? I swear, I didn’t kick that ball into the ninth hole . . .”
Adam interjected and spoke without preamble. “Senator, someone’s trying to link you to a nutty doctor.”
Terry sat up straighter in his chair to focus. The only time Adam called him senator was when the conversation was a CYA call, otherwise known as ‘cover your ass’ call. A call that could be used later as evidence or documentation in a case brought against him.
“Please go on . . .” Terry didn’t like the tone of this phone call. The situation must be complicated for his otherwise unruffled marketing coordinator to sound so concerned.
Adam punched on his keyboard that made something pop up on Terry’s screen. Terry read the headline to the article written by a well-known local political blogger and then scanned the first few lines.
DOCTOR APPLIES FOR ETHICAL CONSIDERATION
A research doctor claiming he will perform the first-ever human head transplant operation within the next 18 months is seeking the required permits to do so. He notes in his application the abandoned Oakland Warehouse Row would be the perfect site for a new medical facility. That would certainly bring in some much-needed revenue to Oakland… This blogger was rather intrigued but hasn’t been able to meet with the doctor yet for a face-to-face interview… Upon more research about the unknown doctor’s background, we found there may be a connection with California Senator Terry Evans… A senator and a head transplant doctor from the same family? Must be some juicy family history here we’ve got to…
Terry couldn’t read anymore. His eyes became blurry. He stood up without realizing it, knocking over his chair. The thing that hit him the hardest, and the blow felt like a real punch in the gut, was the photo accompanying the blog.
Stefan! Now he knew what was happening in the warehouse. The bastard Mobydick must be double dipping; collecting cash from Stefan to use the warehouse while getting paid by me as well. Terry shook his head in disbelief. After all these years, Stefan climbs out of the hole he deserves to be in. Unbelievable! Terry pounds his desk with the palm of his hand in frustration. And to think we meet again!
He gagged and almost lost his lunch. He realized he was paying the mobster to get votes, as well as keeping the cops away from Warehouse Row. All the while Stefan was there playing crazy doctor, benefiting from this deal too. He couldn’t believe that after all these years, they’d end up linked together again. He shook his head in amazement.
Terry refused to be tossed into the same basket with a nutty doctor. He knew all too well who this doctor was. But should he admit to it? The senator
placed his hands on the desk to brace himself, breathing deeply, his head down, shaking.
Good God! If the public got wind of my campaign buying votes and dealing with Mobydick, a well-known mobster, gangster, whatever the hell he is—it’ll be the end of my career. Not to mention buying the guns…
He had climbed too far and too high for anyone to mess this up now. He knew he had to get to the bottom of this before the situation escalated. He had to save himself and his career. He was the only one who knew how dangerous this nutty doctor could be.
He was in conflict. Save himself? Yes, that was the only solution.
“Terry…” he heard Adam calling his name. He ignored him as he gazed out his office window as memories flashed. He tried to fight it, but he couldn’t stop his memories from going back thirty-five years.
***
“Okay, Stefan, we’ll be back late so don’t wait up, sweet pea,” Ida said as she kissed the air around her son’s head.
Someday she’ll surprise me and kiss me on the cheek, but she doesn’t want to smear her lipstick. Stefan tried to rationalize this only problem in his life. Daily, the formulas went through his head, the scenarios and questions. His IQ was off the charts, but thus far he’d never figured out the solution to this small problem: how to get his mother to love him.
She was dressed to the nines again, meaning she wanted to impress somebody. Stefan’s dad wore his tailored suit and smelled like the woods, his favorite cologne scent.
“And please be nice to your brother,” she continued as her husband helped her with her jacket.
Stefan sneered. “He’s not my brother.”
“Stefan, please!” The impatience apparent in her voice. “Where is Terry, by the way?”
“Probably being stupid again, reading or hiding under his bed.” Stefan giggled. “Terry’s a baby!”
His dad sighed, resigned his son was so cynical at such a young age. “Come on, Ida, let’s get going.” Csaba patted Stefan on the head as he headed to the front door. “Behave for Mrs. Wilson.”
When his parents left, Stefan did what he always does when his parents left them with Mrs. Wilson, he ran down to the basement to spend all evening there. To be alone. He smirked. Mrs. Wilson’s a joke. She’s old and all she ever does is eat mother’s hidden snacks, watches her stupid dramas, and falls asleep on the couch.
When he got down to the basement, he slammed the door to the small interior room he claimed as his own. There wasn’t a lock and sometimes he pushed and dragged a heavy chair to wedge under the door knob. His parents never came down and nosy Mrs. Wilson gave up trying to figure out what he was doing behind the closed door. The stairs were too narrow and steep for her to get back up without stopping several times to rest. When Terry had first arrived, he had tried to follow Stefan, but he ran off after a few shouts and loud bangs.
Dope. Stephan shook his head, not understanding why his parents took in such a stupid brat. Tonight, he wouldn’t need to stick a chair under the door knob. Mrs. Wilson wouldn’t be coming down and Terry will stay up in his room, hiding. Dope.
When Terry heard his foster parents leave for the night, he ran to his bedroom window and smashed his nose to it. He watched as the BMW’s tail lights disappeared.
He shivered. Alone again. He did enjoy the quiet but he wasn’t used to being alone. Living with his birth mom was chaotic, full of partying grownups, noise, alcohol and drugs. He never felt quite safe at home and had learned to curl up in a ball and hide under his bed to become invisible. He discovered his closet under a pile of clothes was a great hiding place during the wild parties. His mom didn’t own any dressers so everything was heaped on the floor. He had piled them up while his mom and her friends slept and no one had ever found him there. But then again, no one had ever searched for him.
The authorities caught up with them when he began to missing school. He could have gotten himself to school since he was 8-years old but he’d miss his pile of warm clothes and the few books and Ladies Home Journals he’d stolen from the old lady next door.
Now, here he was. Terry liked his new home and his foster parents. He didn’t know what was normal, so he didn’t have anything to go by, except for what he’d seen on TV. His foster mom made herself pretty all the time. He wasn’t used to having a woman smelling so lovely, wearing makeup and jewelry, for no reason at all. And Terry noticed she worked on papers after she came home. She’d talk to him for a few minutes and say she’d have to go work in her office. At least it was more attention than his mom used to give him.
Now, the dad, he liked to play catch in the side yard with the new mitts and a clean softball. And they’d go out for ice cream, like Terry had seen on some of those old family shows, with the perfect parents and the perfect kids. And the dad listened to what he said during the drive to the ice cream shop. In Terry’s world, an adult listening to a kid was unusual. He was beginning to like Mr. Farkis too.
Stefan never wanted to go with them. He was the only scary thing about this house. Stefan, his foster brother, the only anomaly in this otherwise picture-perfect family.
It was after 11 pm so his foster parents would be out for at least another few hours. Terry yawned as he finished another mystery book. Although they were well off, the Farkis’s didn’t believe in kids watching TV hours on end – to them this meant they were lazy. So, there was only one TV in the entire 6,000 square foot house, in the family room.
Since Terry didn’t want to watch TV in the same room as Mrs. Wilson’s snoring, he decided to sneak down to the basement and see what Stefan was up to. He’d tried to go down there before but Stefan screamed at him to leave before he had walked half way down the stairs. Terry concluded Stefan must have hearing like a hawk.
Holding onto the railing, Terry walked slow and careful down the dark narrow stairs to the basement. He kept his footsteps light so the stairs wouldn’t creak. He climbed down without incident and hesitated, cocking his head. He heard rustling and an occasional metallic sound, as if tools were being used.
The door to the small room stood next to a long rack of outdoor toys, some forgotten and some never used. Terry saw badminton racquets, a rolled-up kiddie pool, balls of all various sizes, most of them flat, a croquet set still in its package, unused water toys. They were scattered and neglected on the dusty metal shelves, a memorial for a family who had hope but had long given up on the pretense of cohesiveness and unity.
Not believing his luck of not being heard, Terry tiptoed toward the door. He couldn’t fathom what Stefan was doing in there. Was he painting a picture and planning to surprise his mom for Mother’s Day? Was he woodworking a plaque for his dad? Perhaps he was pretending to be a jerk to Terry to keep the project he was creating for him a surprise; a welcoming gift, perhaps?
Thinking of these reasons put a more positive note on Terry’s quest. But his body ignored the thought and his hands shook. He couldn’t figure out why his brain told him to be wary of Stefan. Terry had been “around the block and back,” at only eight-years old. He had an instinct. Stefan couldn’t be trusted.
Terry didn’t trust Stefan, but his fascination with him didn’t stop. He continued to tiptoe towards the basement door.
Inside the small basement room, Stefan pulled the dead rats from the traps he had set around the room. He held them by the tails as he walked over to the work bench. He had found, through trial and error, he could saw through a rat’s head with the gardener’s twig saw, and he did so with the first two rats.
Since he had a tired and sore arm now—he needed to use a lot of pressure to cut off a rat’s head—he grabbed the hedgers hanging from a hook beside him and rested the rat’s neck on the bottom blade. He pushed the handle down, standing on his toes to gain leverage. He didn’t like to cut off their heads this way, because a lot of blood squirted out. He was tired of burying his clothes, along with his reject rodents, under the house.
After he severed off the rats’ heads, he grabbed the heavy-duty stapler and swapped
heads, stapling the swapped head onto the other’s body. He thought about using his electrical kit to solder their freshly-cut necks, but he had done that yesterday. The excitement was in the experimentation.
Once he got this down pat, he could further his revolutionary surgery. He’d read about the new advances of sedation and was anxious to use those new procedures but he had to figure out a way to get the supplies he needed. After all, he was only a 12-year-old boy. A lot of things were out of his hands.
Before he left the room for the night, he stapled the rats by their tails on the bulletin board he had hidden behind a shelf against the wall. For now, this was for his eyes only. He admired the work he’d done in the last year. He had his rats lined up in perfect rows on the bulletin board, with dates and details. Some had staples in their necks, some sewn on with fishing line, some half and half. He may be only a kid in peoples’ eyes but he knew he was a genius. He was an organizer, a thinker, a researcher. Someday, the world will know he was a genius too.
When he grew up, he knew he’d be famous. Someone would surely love and kiss him then.
Watching through a crack in the open door, Terry turned and placed a hand over his mouth. But that didn’t stop him from barfing all over himself and the cement basement floor. Watching as Stefan snipped off a rat’s head with gardener’s sheers made him yelp in horror. He ran up the stairs, terrified. He didn’t stop running until he got to his room. He yanked the bedspread and blankets off his bed and ran into the closet. He buried himself underneath the blankets like he used to do at his birth mom’s house. Although he felt safe in his dark cocoon, he couldn’t stop crying.
The rest of the night was a blur and a lot happened in a haze of events. He began to smell smoke and started coughing. He heard sirens and men shouting. They were shouting his name but they couldn’t find him. He stayed huddled in his safe blanket cave and he was too scared to answer. Someone found him and scooped him up. They ran out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door before flames overtook the house.
Heads Will Roll Page 11
