by Billy Wells
“Have you reported these harassments to the police?” Kojak asked pointedly.
“Many times, but since I didn't see the bastards when they did it, it's useless to report them.”
Fogarty exhaled. “Just for the record, who do you suspect?”
“The Ramos brothers did all of it. All three are vicious members of a gang. They are responsible for all of the mischief that goes on in this neighborhood. But since their older brother is on the police force, the authorities look the other way. No one will do anything about the terror they bring to all the senior citizens around here. The old folks know what would happen if they blow the whistle. Everyone is frightened, but I’m not. I’m eighty-five years old, and I’m not going to take it anymore.”
Both detectives saw the pent-up anger in his eyes. Kojak made another note on his pad.
“So, what do you plan to do about these repeated attacks on your personal property?”
Gomer saw his last remark had piqued both agents’ interest. “Why do you ask, Agent Fogarty? Maybe you’d better read me my rights before I answer any more questions.”
Fogarty looked him squarely in the eye. “Let me give you a piece of advice before you get yourself in trouble. Don’t take the law in your own hands. If you do, you could spend the rest of your days behind bars.”
“And what would you do if these hoodlums defaced your property, just let them bully you?”
“Be sensible. You don’t actually know the Ramos brothers did these things. How can you expect the local authorities to arrest someone because you think they did it?”
“Every one knows they did it, but the police won’t intervene with their brother on the force.”
“Well, Mr. Ominous. I'm not related to them, but unless you catch them in the act, I can’t help you either. No one can. But, I promise to look into the matter on your behalf.”
Gomer looked surprised by Fogarty's remark as the agents turned and headed toward their Crown Vic in the street. He watched them drive away and went back inside.
* * *
Three days later while the Ramos family ate dinner, a brick shattered the front window of the living room facing the street. They heard the roar of an automobile speeding away. The three brothers bounded through the front door into the street, but by the time they reached the sidewalk, they only saw a dark colored car turning the corner a block away.
“Who the fuck would've have the balls to break our window?” Dom Ramos bellowed in disbelief.
“Somebody who's tired of living, I guess,” his brother, Guido replied.
“And who might that be?” Rudy Ramos asked.
The three brothers looked at each other scratching their heads and drew a blank. Then Dom finally said, “You don't think it was that crazy old man, do you?”
“Who?”
“You know that dweeb on Shady Lane where we put the sign on Halloween.”
“It couldn't have been him,” Rudy said. “He doesn't have a car. Remember that old wreck in the backyard that won’t start anymore?”
“Well, who else could it be?” Dom said, with a clueless expression on his face.
“Don't know,” Dom shook his head, and the brothers went inside.
Their mother was cleaning up the glass with a broom and a dustpan. The father said, “There's a message attached to the brick.” He handed it to Guido.
These words were scrawled in black Magic Marker on a crumbling piece of paper: Beware the Ripper.
“What the fuck?” Guido barked.
“Who is this Ripper character? Is this some kind of joke?”
“It doesn't seem like a joke to me,” Rudy said. They spent the rest of the night picking their brains about who this Ripper could be.
* * *
Two weeks later, when the brothers went to their Mercury Marquis parked across the street from their house, they found all four tires slashed with a note left under one of the windshield wipers that read: Beware the Ripper.
“What the fuck!” Guido bellowed. “We need to find this Ripper character and carve him a new asshole. If the gang gets wind of this shit, our reputation will suffer.”
“Call Joe. We need to report this vandalism so we can file an insurance claim with Allstate,” Dom said.
Rudy called their oldest brother, the police officer, to come out and file a report.
An hour later, Joe shared a brew with his brothers at the kitchen table. “So, Bros, who have you screwed over lately with your lame shenanigans?”
“What do you mean, Joe?” Rudy asked.
“I mean why are you nimrods playing pranks on innocent people like that old geezer on Shady Lane. I just got a call from an FBI agent, who says you put a sign in the middle of the street to scare kids away from his house on Halloween.”
“You mean the old man blew the whistle on us. He has bigger balls than I thought.”
“I don’t know who reported it, but this Fed named Fogarty asked me to check into it. He told me someone had reported me for not coming down on you screw-ups because I’m your brother.” He let this sink in and then he said, “I blew the bastard off and told him to go fuck himself, but he said I hadn't heard the end of this, and if you clowns bother the old man again, there'll be hell to pay.”
“You told him to go fuck himself. Cool.” Dom chuckled. “That's telling him.”
“This is serious. I don't want to hear of you messing with the old geezer again. He's off limits, do you hear?”
“Okay. Okay. He's off limits.” Rudy repeated, trying to calm the waters. “We were just having a little fun.”
“So, who do you think fucked up your tires?” Joe asked.
“We don't have a clue. He calls himself The Ripper.”
“The Ripper? Like the guy who carved up the women in London?”
“Yeah. He pitched a rock through our front window last week and left a note.”
“With Mama and Papa there?”
“Yeah,” Rudy said, shaking his head. “We were all sitting at the supper table when it happened.”
“And you didn't see who did it?”
“No. We just saw a dark colored car turning the corner a block away.”
“You guys have stepped in some shit this time. I think you might deserve it after all the fucked up things you've done.”
“I hate to hear you say that, bro,” Rudy said, mocking a wounded expression.
“Anyway, be careful. Tell Mama and Papa I'll stop by soon.”
“The four brothers hugged each other and went their separate ways.”
* * *
Two weeks later to the day, someone poisoned the Ramos dog with hamburger laced with arsenic. On the front step, the apparent perpetrator had written in chalk: Beware the Ripper. The brothers continued to canvas the neighborhood, asking everyone if they’d seen anyone suspicious prowling around last night.
Everyone they talked with said they’d not seen a thing.
Just as before, the only one they could think of who might be holding a grudge was the geezer they’d harassed for so many years.
* * *
Two weeks later to the day after their dog was poisoned, the brothers found the four new tires they had replaced on their Marquis slashed with a note under the windshield wiper that read: Stay Away From Shady Lane. It was signed The Ripper.
That evening, they decided they were men, not mice. They borrowed their Papa’s Toyota Camry and drove to Shady Lane to talk to the old man.
They parked across the street in the shadows. The streetlight was still out, and the added darkness made everything seem even more creepy and foreboding. It was eight o'clock, and they didn't see a single light on inside the house.
“What do you make of no lights in the house at this time of night?” Dom asked, lighting a cigarette.
“Don’t know. Maybe he went out,” Rudy answered.
“Maybe, but it's unlikely,” Dom continued. “I don’t think the creep has two nickels to rub together. And, as far as I know, he’s nev
er had a friend to his name. He's a real loner. He's been living by himself since I was a paperboy when I was ten years old. People on the street then were actually afraid of the old bastard. He had a lazy eye that looked half covered over with what looked like a spider web. I don't think it was real, and it looked really scary.”
“The first time I talked to him,” Guido recalled, “he couldn’t look at me with both eyes at the same time. One eye was looking at the ceiling, and the other looking at the floor. It was really creepy.”
“Where could the old bastard be?” Dom blew a perfect smoke ring. “It's too early to go to bed.”
“I think I see a sign on the door?” Guido said, squinting toward the porch. “I'll take a look.”
Guido got out of the car and headed for the old man's yard. He looked at the sign, walked back to the Camry, and got in.
“What did it say, Guido?” Rudy asked.
“It says the house has been condemned, and they will be tearing it down on March 10.”
“That's tomorrow.” Dom said. “Where is the old man?”
Suddenly a light crossed in front of the front window.
“Look at that,” Rudy whispered.
“Someone's in there. Who else could it be but the old man?”
The three brothers exited the car and headed for the dark, ominous structure shrouded in black shadows. Guido opened the front gate hanging by one hinge, and they bounded up the three steps to the landing.
With no hesitation, Dom rapped hard on the front door. They waited, but no one answered. An eerie silence hung in the air. An owl hooted somewhere behind the house.
“Hey old man, open up,” Dom shouted coarsely. “We’re not here to bust your balls. We only want to talk to you.”
They waited, but nothing stirred inside. The only sound was their own heavy breathing.
Dom knocked again, and through the glass panel in the front door, they saw a lit candle float across the interior behind a gauzy curtain.
Assuming the old man would come forth, they waited for a response, but nothing happened.
“What do you think?” Dom asked. “He’s in there, but he doesn’t want to talk to us.”
Rudy tried the door, and finding it locked, he removed a credit card from his wallet, stuck it into the crack in the latch, and after sliding it downward, the door creaked open a crack.
Darkness enveloped the interior as black as India ink.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Guido stammered. “You know what Joe said about hassling the old man.”
“Dom said boldly, “We came here to talk to the old man, and they're tearing the house down tomorrow morning. This might be our only chance to ask him about the Ripper. Stand back.” Dom pushed Rudy aside and rushed into the blackness. The others followed.
Once inside, they heard the sound of something heavy falling with a finalistic clunk behind them. Bright lights flooded the space within like a baseball stadium and blinded them. Ten figures emerged from all sides with baseball bats and iron pipes. A vicious series of bone crunching whacks sent the brothers to the floor, writhing, and screaming.
When they saw their attackers trade their clubs for machetes, they begged for mercy, but the men in black with red tarantulas emblazoned on their chests just laughed and kept hacking long after the screaming had stopped. When they finished, the room and everything in it were soaked with blood.
The Tarantula gang lifted the bar from the door, turned off the lights, and headed for a black van parked in the shadows down the street. The stench of death and bodily fluids emanated from the house like a heavy, suffocating curtain. Several rats scurried in through the open door. Later, an alley cat, a mongrel dog, and a raccoon joined them for a midnight snack.
The next day, when the wrecking crew arrived to demolish the dilapidated structure, the supervisor smelled the stench and went inside to investigate. After he spewed his guts over the carnage, he called 9-1-1.
Agents Fogarty and Kojak arrived shortly after the rescue squad and the CSI groups. After entering the house and looking at the crime scene, they both dry heaved and bolted for a breath of fresh air.
“Christ!” Kojak barked. “It smells like a slaughterhouse in the dead of summer in there.”
Fogarty said, “It is a slaughterhouse, Partner.” He kept sucking in air like a fish out of water, withdrew a pack of cigarettes from his inside pocket, and lit up.
A uniform walked up to them. “I’m Toast. You're Fogarty and Kojak, aren't you?”
“The detectives smiled at the peculiar introduction, and Fogarty answered, “Yeah. We talked to the owner the day after Halloween. He said he had an ax to grind with some ball busters, who kept harassing him, and he was gonna get even.”
“Did you find any IDs?” Kojak said, unraveling the wrapper on a Tootsie Roll Pop.
“Yeah, the cash was gone if they had any, but we found three drivers licenses belonging to the Ramos Brothers swimming in the blood, gore, and shreds of clothing. We assume it‘s them, but we won’t know for sure until the autopsy.”
“These are the guys Ominous wanted dead,” Fogarty said. “I don't know how he did it, but he must have lured them over here and got a group of bad asses with pipe wrenches and machetes to waste them for him. Do you know about his history with the Ramos brothers?”
“Yeah, I know all about the problems he had, and I wanted to help him, but he never caught them red-handed. My hands were tied.”
Kojak shook his head somberly, “Now he’ll probably spend his final days in the slammer with some other gangbangers leaning on him. We warned him not to take the law in his own hands. I feel sorrier for the old man than these jerk offs, but I’d say this is an open and shut case, Toast. Have you cuffed him yet?”
“Didn't you see the wrecking ball outside?”
“Yeah, we saw it. What's that about anyway?”
“Mr. Ominous died the week after Halloween. Once the authorities inspected the structure of this place and looked inside, they condemned the building. It was supposed to be demolished this morning. When the wrecking crew arrived, and smelled the bodies, they called 9-1-1.”
“It looks like the rats had a feast in there,” Fogarty groaned.
“It was more than rats,” Toast added with a sour expression. “I saw a cat, an old dog, and a raccoon chowing down, too, before we shooed them away.”
“Do have any idea who could have done something this depraved?” Kojak asked, sucking on a toothpick.
“It’s obviously a gang thing. The Ramoses were members of the Dragons who are archenemies of the Tarantulas. They kill each other every month or so. I guess it was the Tarantulas turn to draw blood this month. Ominous must have found out about this rivalry and got word to the Tarantulas they were going to be here last night. They were waiting for the poor bastards with the bone busters and jumped them when they came in.”
“Looks to me like they brought more than bone busters,” Fogarty replied, as the coroner’s crew wheeled out the first limp body bag.”
“They just used the lead pipes to soften them up. Then, they sliced and diced them with the machetes and the chainsaw. It was one grisly sight,” Toast exclaimed as the second limp body bag came forth.
“But how did Ominous get them here last night if he died several weeks ago,” Kojak asked.
“That’s the missing piece of the puzzle. I guess he or someone he knew arranged it beforehand.”
“It’s unlikely,” Fogarty replied, “if he died right after Halloween. Did you search the premises yet?”
Toast nodded and said, “We did a cursory check and found a half a gallon of spoiled milk and a jar of pickles in the fridge. The pantry was full of Halloween candy.”
“Halloween candy?” Fogarty asked, as another body bag was wheeled toward the parking lot.
“Yep. Four shelves full of it. By the way, did you guys ever find out who put the razor blades and such in the candy on Halloween?”
“Nope. We still don't have a c
lue who did it?”
“Rumors were circulating Ominous did it.”
“Maybe, but I don't think so. Kojak and I talked to him about that, and he said the sign these dead clowns put in the street stopped the children from coming to his house. That's why he was so upset with them.” Fogarty turned to Kojak and said, “While we’re here, let's take a look at the candy.”
“Do you think there's something wrong with it?” Toast gasped with a worried look.
“I don't know, but I wouldn't eat any of it,” Fogarty said sternly.
“Damn, I saw Harry taking a few pieces off-the-shelf right after we arrived,” Toast said, scratching his head.
“Are you serious? A cop should know better than to tamper with items from a crime scene,” Kojak groused.”
“He said he missed breakfast, and he was starving.”
“Where is he now?”
“That's his car right there.” Toast pointed to a Crown Vic in the driveway. “He must be here somewhere. He began to shout, “Harry, where are you?”
The three of them started searching the house.
They went through the few rooms on the first level and then upstairs and didn't find Harry. When they opened the screen door to the back porch, they saw the police officer’s body on the ground just past the back steps. His hands still gripped his throat, and blood had run from his mouth down his chin and pooled under his head. His eyes were glassy and unseeing. He was dead, and his shredded tongue protruded from between his teeth.
“The hungry bastard choked on something in the candy. Old man Ominous must've been the Halloween killer after all,” Toast said, picking a Big Top candy wrapper off the ground.
“Maybe so,” Fogarty replied skeptically, “But if he was the killer, he sure was a good liar. He told us he never opened one bag of candy when we questioned him. And the way he said it was like he expected us to check on it to corroborate his story. When we didn't check, he seemed disappointed.”
“What did you expect him to say?” Toast asked, rolling his eyes.
“I don’t know, but I don’t see Ominous as the Halloween Killer.”
They went to the pantry and found ten bags of unopened candy of various brands on the two upper shelves. The two lower shelves had sacks of loose candy and about thirty pieces of specially wrapped generic candy in a giant bowl. The wrapper they found on the ground next to the dead police officer’s body matched several pieces in the bowl, but not the pieces in the unopened candy bags.
