by Gord Rollo
“I take it this is where your problem comes into the picture?” correctly guessed Carson.
“Exactly. Since our discovery, we legally purchased the farmland and wooded area surrounding our particular cave, and we also received a mining permit from the State. We should be on easy street by now… but obviously we’re not. Someone is hiding in our woods, guarding the entrance to the cave, and sabotaging us. They’ve already murdered seven men we hired to help us start reclaiming the gold.”
“Why don’t you call the police?” Carson asked.
“No way! We can’t go to the cops, man.” Bishop nervously shook his head, waiting until Stein gave him the okay, before explaining their dilemma. “The land is legit, sure, but the money we used to buy it wasn’t. It costs a whole whack of cash to front an operation like this, man. We didn’t have squat, so we talked your mob friends into helping us.
“They fronted the money to buy the land, greased a few government palms to get our mining permit, and bought all the necessary tools, supplies, and whatever else we needed. Now we mine the gold, then sell it to them for less than half market price. They get filthy rich reselling it on the black market, but Karl and I still get our millions without any of the hassles. It was a cut and dried deal, man. Cut and freakin’ dried… until that psycho monster showed up.”
“So you can understand why we can’t run to the police,” Stein interjected. “Like I said, my associate and I have a problem… so we’ve come to you for a solution. We’ll give you fifteen thousand dollars. Cash, of course. Half now… half later. Can you help us?”
It wasn’t an easy question and Carson certainly wasn’t going to rush into making a stupid decision. Something about all this was wrong – something he just couldn’t place. He needed the cash, but all the money in the world wouldn’t do him any good if he got himself killed. Whoever was killing the mineworkers obviously was good at what he did, so killing him wouldn’t be easy. And he would certainly be on guard, and more than ready to defend himself. No, this sounded a little too crazy. Carson didn’t want anything to do with it.
“Sorry guys… it’s too damn risky.”
His decision made, he stood up to leave. He noticed the look of spreading panic on Stein and Bishop’s faces and said, “Don’t worry… I’m not the only game in town. Call your contact man. He’ll probably set you up with either Charlie Barnes or Jack Clinton. They’re both good.”
The best action always seemed to get split between him and these two rivals – Barnes and Clinton. Carson considered them both closet psycho’s, but even he had to grudgingly admit that they were damn good at their jobs.
He turned on his heels and began to walk out of the room. From behind him, Stein stopped him cold by saying, “We already have, Mr. Carson.”
“What?” he asked, spinning back around. “Which one?”
“Both, actually.”
“Well, hell… that settles it. If you think I’m gonna go get my ass shot off just because the first two people you wanted turned you down, you’re…”
“They didn’t turn us down” Stein interrupted. “They both accepted. Rather eagerly, if I remember right.”
Yeah, they would, Carson thought. This kind of thing was right up those two lunatics alley. He had to ask.
“What happened?”
Mr. Bishop pulled a brown envelope out of his briefcase and flicked it into Carson’s hands. Before he even opened it, Carson knew what he was going to find inside. Photographs.
Carson removed the stack of color prints and immediately wished he hadn’t. The damage inflicted to the bodies in the photos was so incredible he could hardly believe his eyes. Carson had been in the killing business for a long time and to him violence was an everyday companion. He’d thought he’d seen everything – until now. Who the hell were they dealing with here?
“Are you trying to tell me that these… these lumps of hamburger, are Barnes and Clinton?” he asked in shock.
“Only Barnes,” Bishop replied. “Some of the other men we sent into the mine, too. What’s left of them, anyway. We don’t know what happened to Clinton. He went into that freakin’ cave, but he never came back out.”
“These men weren’t killed… they’ve been mutilated. Have you considered the possibility it might be an animal that attacked them? Maybe wild dogs are living in the cave? Maybe it’s a bear?”
Bishop was quick to respond. “I told you earlier, man… it’s a monster. It’s some kind of kick ass, mother freakin’ monster!”
“Oh shut up Roger… please,” Stein begged. “Don’t make this any more complicated than it already is. As for your animal theory Mr. Carson, we initially thought the same thing, but there are no animal tracks anywhere. With each murder, we find a set of human footprints walking away from the carnage. They disappear at the entrance of the cave. No, it’s a man all right. A maniac for sure, as those pictures can attest, but a man nonetheless. What if we offer twenty-thousand?”
“I’m still not interested. Goodbye.”
“I’m sorry to hear that… but not as sorry as Mr. Scarpelli will be. He said to say this was a personal favor you’d be doing for him. Of course, if you’re too busy, I can…”
“Shut the fuck up!” Carson exploded, having heard more than enough. “Don’t try playing the heavy with me, fat boy. You ain’t got what it takes.”
Arlo Scarpelli was the head of the Mafia family in Chicago. When Scarpelli asked for a personal favor, there weren’t many people stupid enough to turn him down. If what Stein was saying was true, Carson might be about to make the biggest mistake of his life. He went with his gut feeling anyway.
“You’re full of shit, Stein. You and your little sidekick here don’t have nothing to do with Scarpelli. Right from the start something didn’t feel right about this meeting and now I think I’ve finally got it. You’re on your own… aren’t you? Scarpelli would never let a couple of schmucks like you handle such an important hit. Oh sure, you might have greased somebody in the family to get them to contact me, and maybe they’re even kicking in some money, but that’s as far as it goes. Scarpelli doesn’t know what you’re up to. If he did, he’d whack both you clowns and take all the gold for himself. See you later guys, I’m out of here. Good luck on the monster hunt.”
Before Carson had taken three steps toward the door, Stein was shouting in panic, “Okay… you win. We are on our own, but don’t leave. Just hear me out… okay? Everything else we’ve said is true. The gold is there. I swear it is! I apologize for the charade, but we needed your help. We’re desperate, Mr. Carson. Name your price… Okay? Just please don’t leave.”
This was more like it. Carson still didn’t like the hit, but he was far too greedy to pass up a chance like this.
“All right Stein… you got yourself a killer, but I want more than twenty grand. I want a hundred, and not a god-damned nickel less, you hear me?”
“Done” Stein said without hesitation, an obvious look of relief on his face. “Same terms. You get fifty-thousand now… fifty later.” He quickly counted out five thick stacks of cash and placed the money into Carson’s hands before he changed his mind. “Any questions?”
“Yeah, when do you want this done?”
Stein and Bishop huddled together for a moment, then Bishop asked, “What are your plans for tomorrow, man?”
***
Carson was walking three paces behind Stein and Bishop on the narrow wooded trail, when they came to a sudden stop. The trail ahead continued on, and as far as Carson could tell, nothing was impeding their way.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“This is as far as we go, man,” Bishop whispered, the tension and nervousness in his voice almost palatable. “For some reason, the son of a bitch draws the line right here. We can party all day here where we’re standing, but step past that big boulder ahead there… you’re freakin’ monster meat.”
“Would you stop that?” Stein glared at his partner. “You know perfectly well it�
�s a man we’re dealing with here.”
Carson wished they would both shut up. They weren’t exactly building his confidence with all their crazy talk. How had he managed to get himself into this mess, anyway? More importantly, how was he going to get himself out?
A full week had passed since their meeting. Stein and Bishop had been all gung-ho to race down here the very next day but Carson had balked. It was his ass on the line, and he wasn’t going anywhere until he was good and ready. In this case, ready meant getting his hands on some very serious firepower. He’d be damned if he were going to play one on one with some backwoods maniac without being prepared. It had been difficult getting his hands on an untraceable Magnum 44 handgun and a Heckler and Koch HK-51 machine gun on such short notice, difficult but not impossible. When Carson had said he wanted serious firepower, he’d meant it.
Stein and Bishop had picked him up in a nondescript Plymouth Voyager mini-van. They had taken the Eisenhower Expressway out of the city, then caught the I-55 southwest towards the state line. They had travelled some two hundred and sixty miles in four hours, before pulling to a stop at a dilapidated farmhouse on the outskirts of the town of Alton, Illinois. Carson’s had felt quite good on the drive down, but now that it was time to earn his money, his confidence was wilting rapidly as the sun slowly began to set.
“I’ve got more guns back in the van,” Carson stalled. “Why don’t you both come with me? The three of us stand a better chance of taking this guy out, than me on my own.”
“I don’t think so, Mr. Carson,” Stein answered, rapidly shaking his head. “This is your line of expertise… not ours. We’re going to stay right here.”
Bishop, turning white as a ghost at the mere mention of going into the cave, for once never even responded. Like it or not, Carson was on his own.
“Tell me again what happened to Jack Clinton?” he asked Stein, while rechecking his machine gun and ammunition clips.
“We’re not really sure. All the other men who went in, we found deposited right back here. This is the spot where we took all of those ghastly pictures. Mr. Clinton entered the cave two weeks ago and there’s been no sign of him since. There’s a chance he’s still alive, but it’s not very likely.”
“What does this guy want, anyway? Have you been in contact with him at all?”
“No, not a word. He’s carved obscene pictures into a few of the victim’s bellies, but there’s no apparent method to his madness. We don’t know why he’s doing this? Maybe you can ask him… before you kill the bastard. Pump a bullet through his twisted brain for us, okay?”
Carson nodded and took a couple of tentative steps along the trail. He was as ready as he was ever going to be.
“Good luck, man,” Bishop said from behind him. Then in a barely audible whisper, said, “You can bet your freakin’ ass… you’re gonna need it.”
***
Stein had instructed Carson to follow the trail to a shallow stream. Just across the stream, he’d find a path sloping up and away to his right. The entrance to the cave was at the top of the slope, where the ground leveled off.
It might have been his imagination, but Carson was sure the forest had become quieter. As if every plant and animal in the area were collectively holding their breath, awaiting the outcome of the battle ahead. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, and started moving forward again.
It wasn’t long until he spotted the stream about one hundred paces away. He could just barely make out the noise of its water gently gurgling downstream. It would normally be a calming sound, peaceful, but tonight it filled him with dread. Soft as it was, the flowing water would still easily cover any telltale noises of someone trying to sneak up on him.
With every step closer to the stream, the noise, as well as his anxiety, steadily increased. Carson’s heart was pounding so hard, that by the time he made it successfully to the edge of the shallow stream, it felt like a sledgehammer banging inside his chest. The journey had taken two minutes, but had felt more like two hours. Although extremely nerve racking; so far, things had been relatively uneventful. Things wouldn’t stay that way, though. Carson could feel the approaching danger like an icy January wind. Something bad was about to happen and he knew it was going to happen soon.
Carson had no idea how accurate his prediction would be. He had only waded a few feet into the knee-deep dark water, when his feet were suddenly swept out from underneath him. He barely had time to draw a deep breath and register the presence of a massive man rising above him, before landing on his back, submerging beneath the froth.
In his panic, Carson sprayed off a few rounds from the rapid-firing Heckler and Koch, but the shots were wild, more of a reflex action then any real attempt at defending himself. He quickly tried to get his head above water and regain his feet, but a large hand crashed into his chest, pinning him to the rocky bottom. Carson tried to pry the assailant’s hand away and roll loose, but whoever it was, they were as strong as a bull.
Carson’s lungs were already screaming for oxygen. If he couldn’t fight his way to the surface soon, there would be no fight left in him. He didn’t want to die like this. The water was cold, dark, and so murky that Carson couldn’t see the hand on his chest, much less the face of the man who was killing him. The machine gun was of no good for this kind of in close fighting. His only option was the Magnum 44. The Magnum was one of the most powerful handguns around and would make a mess of this madman from this range.
Carson somehow managed to wiggle the handgun out from under his belt. He was forced to use his left hand to fire the weapon but from an arm’s length away, it was virtually impossible to miss. He had a horrific vision flash through his oxygen-starved brain, of pulling the trigger over and over, but the gun being too waterlogged to fire. Fortunately, the Magnum performed flawlessly, the first bullet exploding out of the chamber toward where Carson believed his assailant’s chest to be.
The hand pinning Carson lifted away, as the deafening blast must have scored a bull’s eye, tossing the large man backward. Carson had barely broken the surface and gulped a few mouthfuls of air; hadn’t even had time to wipe the water out of his stinging eyes, when amazingly, the attacker was back on top of him pushing him beneath the water again. What kind of a man could take a .44 caliber slug point blank to the chest, then get back up to continue fighting? He should have been dead instantly, floating downstream with a six-inch hole shredding his back. Unlikely as it seemed, maybe the shot had missed.
Before Carson could fire again, the man drove a fist into Carson’s face. The powerful blow stunned him enough that he fumbled and lost his grip on the gun. He was making a feeble attempt at recovering it when the next blow landed solidly on the left side of his jaw. The world exploded in a star burst behind Carson’s eyes, and then everything went black. For the next minute, he faded in and out of consciousness, wondering how he seemed able to breathe underwater all of a sudden. He was too dazed to realize he’d been lifted from the shallow stream and was now being dragged by his heels up the sloping path toward the entrance to the cave.
Through unfocused eyes, Carson managed to finally catch a glimpse of his adversary, and realized how this psycho might possibly have been able to stand up after the direct hit from the Magnum. For some unfathomable reason, the huge man dragging Carson into the darkness of the cave was wearing what appeared to be a suit of polished golden armor. Carson tried to make some sense of what he’d seen, but his eyes rolled up into their sockets and his mind drifted into the blissful arms of darkness.
***
Carson awakened drenched in sweat, in the grip of the worst headache of his life. His jaw also hurt like hell. The rest of him felt relatively okay, with nothing more serious than a few cuts and bruises. Carson had no way of knowing how long he’d been unconscious, or what had become of the man in the golden armor.
He was lying on his back inside of a crudely constructed steel cage. Through the bars, he could see the rough limestone walls and ceiling, and re
alized he was inside of the cavern. He felt a blistering heat beneath his back and when he rolled over to check out the source, he was shocked.
The cage he was in was suspended fifteen feet in the air by a steel cable that disappeared into the shadow shrouded ceiling. Below Carson, and obviously the source of all the light and heat in the cavern, was the lake of liquid gold.
With the exception of one small area near a bolted wooden door, the entire cavern appeared to be submerged in this decadent sea of unimaginable wealth. The gold glowed with a bright, ominous aura that could only be described as heavenly. Great geysers of the precious metal rolled on the surface, then shot into the air on currents of super-heated steam and venting gases. It was a breathtaking sight, and Carson had never witnessed anything like it.
With a loud thump, the only door into the chamber was thrown wide open and in walked the man Carson had fought with. When he came into full view, and Carson finally had a chance to really take a good look, he let out a scream of horror and amazement. This man, if that was in fact what Carson was looking at, wasn’t wearing a suit of armor after all – in fact, he wasn’t wearing anything whatsoever. He was completely sealed in a cocoon of gold. No, that wasn’t right either, because there were no breathing holes or cut out apertures to see from. Carson couldn’t believe his eyes. This wasn’t simply a man covered in gold, but a living statue of a man, made entirely of gold.
He was nearly as impressive of a sight as the lake he guarded over, his sculpted image shining with the same inner brilliance. He turned and looked up at his captive, smiling a large toothy grin, which Carson would have thought impossible. How could a creature made of solid gold, have the ability to perform a flexible maneuver such as smiling?
“You have many questions, I’m sure,” the golden man said in a gravely, yet perfectly decipherable voice.
