The Fixer

by Mike Gomes

  “Oh God! Why? Why did you do that? I told you everything!” cried Billy, reaching up and trying to stop the bleeding.

  “It’s a reminder of what you did. Every time you look in the mirror you will remember,” said Falau with cold detachment as he packed up his tools at the table.

  The only door in the room opened, revealing a man and a woman in their fifties slowly entering and unable to take their eyes off Billy.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Snell?” questioned Billy. “It was an accident! I swear was an accident! I had too much to drink! Everyone drinks and drives! Why was she out there? You should have kept her inside!”

  The couple stared back at Billy, not saying a word. A mix of hate, anger and pity etched their faces.

  Mr. Snell put out his hand to stop his wife, but he continued making his way to Billy, who lay crying on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

  “You killed her. I heard you admit it. After all these years it took this to make you do the right thing. Now you’re going to have to pay.”

  “I said I was sorry. What about forgiveness for me? You’re Christian. You have to forgive me, it’s in the Bible!” yelled Billy, grasping to anything that might let him taste freedom once more.

  “The Bible also says an eye for an eye,” said Mrs. Snell in a slow, monotone voice.

  Throwing his backpack over his shoulder Falau took two steps towards the door when Mrs. Snell’s voice stopped him in his tracks with a request.

  “$10,000 to kill him now.”

  “That’s not our agreement,” said Falau, turning to look at Mr. Snell.

  “I want another agreement. I have an unmarked .38 revolver right here. Pull the trigger, and $10,000 in cash is yours.”

  “That’s not what I do,” responded Falau, turning away from the Snells. “That’s not who I am.”

  “Of course that’s who you are. Anyone can see it in you. You didn’t need to cut him, but you did and you liked doing it. You can’t change who you are.”

  With Mr. Snell’s words still hanging in the air, another sharp pain jabbed into the big man’s temple. The flashback was soft and distant, but unmistakable, as the voice of a woman saying, “you killed me... it was your fault,” rang in his ears once again.

  “No!” snapped Falau, taking another step toward the door.

  Reaching out and grabbing Falau by the arm, Mr. Snell shouted, “$20,000!” causing Falau to stop again and turn back.

  “If you want him dead so bad, you pull the trigger,” said Falau, ripping his arm from Mr. Snell’s grip. “I’m not a killer!”

  Falau walked across the room and through the door, stopping only to grab the bottle of whiskey he’d been drinking earlier, shoving it into his backpack. Making his way up the back steps to the door his head started to throb. He knew that flashbacks would be coming again and soon. Turning the handle to the outside door, he heard a single gunshot from the basement. The big man stepped out into the light, happy to leave that place behind.

  Chapter 3

  FALAU MADE HIS WAY down the sidewalk of Massachusetts Avenue in Boston. The sky was filled with clouds that threatened the day with rain at any moment.

  Carrying a bag of groceries, he looked at the sky hoping he would just about make it back in time. Making his way up the streets he looked at the old, rundown brownstones and wondered how wonderful the neighborhood was when all the brownstones were occupied by individual families. At one time it housed the Boston elite, but that was a long time ago. Now the buildings were broken up into 6 to 9 apartments, a common bathroom on each floor. Not quite a boardinghouse, just one step above. The buildings were covered in the stains of years of car exhaust and pollution, and the intricate wooden doors were scarred with graffiti. The neighborhood was now the location of Boston’s working and non-working poor.

  “Mr. Falau is back again!” said an elderly black man sitting on the steps of Falau’s building. The man’s hair had started to turn gray on the sides and his face was drawn from years of hard times. His clothing was worn down too and lacked any style, but despite it all he still saved a smile for Falau when he saw him.

  “Grady! How goes it, old friend?” said Falau, reaching out to shake hands.

  Grady was quick to also reach out and use two hands to shake hands with his friend. “I’ve something you will like,” he said with a sly smile.

  “Oh, you do?”

  “Yes sir,” replied Grady, reaching to his side and pulling up a bottle covered in a paper bag. The spout of the bottle poked out of the top of the bag, missing its cap. Grady had obviously been sampling the surprise before Falau got home. “Whiskey. Your favorite. And it ain’t none of that cheap stuff. This is top shelf. Well maybe not top shelf, but second from the top. I was thinking maybe you could join me out here and we can make our way through this bottle. You know what they say... if your drink alone you’re a drunk ,but if your drink with someone else you’re a friend.”

  “That sounds great. Thanks for thinking of me,” replied Falau. “Give me thirty minutes and I’ll be back down.”

  Passing Grady, Falau patted him on the back and took out his keys.

  “Oh, Falau, there was a white guy here earlier looking for you. Said you were an old friend but he be dressed like a bill collector. So, I didn’t trust him and said you were gone.”

  “Did he say who he was?”

  “Don’t know. I asked him, he said he would just catch up with you later. He turned a lot of heads pulling up in that fancy car. You’re the only white guy around here so the whole neighborhood is wondering who you done wrong to have a heavy like that sent after you.”

  “Grady, you know I keep to myself. Probably some jackass serving me with papers for defaulting on a credit card. They can sue me if they want, I have no money to give them. You can’t bleed a stone.”

  “You got that right. You live down here just to keep it real,” Grady said laughing at his own joke.

  “Yeah. My other house is in Wellesley!”

  The two men laughed as Falau opened the door and pushed his way inside, starting up three flights of steps with the bag of groceries pulled in close to his body. The hallway smelled of urine, a smell all too familiar. Falau had learned early on that the mothers would tell their children to urinate in the hallway because it would stop the drug dealers from setting up shop in their building and selling drugs.

  Unlocking his door he walked into his studio apartment. He sighed at just how bleak his life had become as he walked across the room and put the bag of groceries on a small table. Across the room sat an old sofa, some patches covered with duct tape and with a sheet pulled over it to hide the holes. A lamp sat on the floor without a shade. Next to the window on the far side of the floor laid a mattress without a box spring. No sheet covered the mattress. Scattered on the floor next to the bed was an ashtray, several discarded cigarettes, and the want ads from the newspaper.

  The big man started to unload the groceries when he heard the toilet flush in his bathroom. Freezing up, the big man attempted to assess the situation, carefully listening for footsteps or any noise that might divulge what was happening. Moving next to the table he crouched down, sure that the thief had heard him and had flushed the toilet as a way to let him know he was there. He probably expected whoever was in the main room to flee the apartment as soon as he heard the noise. But Falau had no intention of leaving.

  “Mr. Falau. I’m going to come out now. I mean you no harm. I would just like to talk with you. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a talk.”

  “Come out, but position your hands where I can see them. You do anything I don’t like and I’ll shoot you.”

  “Shoot me? You don’t have a gun,” replied the voice. “You don’t recognize my voice?”

  The voice rang familiar in Falau’s ears, but it had changed. It brought with it a feeling of safety and comfort. The feeling of connection and belonging. All things that have been absent for a long time.

  “It’s been over ten years.
Bet my voice is deeper now. We were just kids back then.”

  With no effort at all Falau’s mind opened with a flood of information at the sight of his old best friend.

  “Tyler? Is that you?”

  The handle on the bathroom door turned and the door slowly opened, revealing a tall strongman in his late twenties. His hair was cut short and he wore a tailored suit. His hands were in the air as he’d been instructed to do, but he wore a smile on his face that did not show any fear at all.

  Walking across the room Falau reached his hand out to his old friend, who reciprocated. The two men hugged and then looked one another over, appraising how their friend had aged over the years.

  “Look at you, man. A suit. In shape. Looks like you’ve been doing well,” exclaimed Falau.

  “I am. But I have a good place to work and they help take care of me.”

  Walking to the sofa Falau motioned for his friend to join him.

  “I don’t have that much time.”

  “Okay. And how did you find me? Why come here after all this time?” questioned the big man.

  “Finding you was easy,” said Tyler. “The Internet knows everything. I’m here to offer you a job.”

  “You remember everything from when you were young?”

  “Yeah. I set up a little system to help with that after I got out.”

  Leaning back on the sofa Tyler’s eyes worked their way across the room, taking in all there was to see. “We go way back, so I’m going to be blunt. Look around, man. This sucks! This is no way for you to be living.”

  “It’s not that bad. Jobs have been hard to find, and this is just temporary.”

  “Five years temporary? That’s not just a transition. You’re stuck like this. A man with your experience and skills should not be in this situation,” Tyler said, with all the sympathy of an angry teacher. “I have a way out of this for you.”

  “Who said I’m looking for a way out of anything. The people around here good people, and maybe, just maybe, I like it here,” snapped Falau. “You show up here after ten years and insult the way I live? The door is right there if this place isn’t good enough you.”

  Raising an eyebrow at the aggression, Tyler leaned toward his old friend. “I meant no offense. Just expecting you to be in a better spot. I know about the part-time job you did recently, and thought you were getting a good income from that.”

  “What part-time job?”

  “Erica Snell.”

  “How did you know about that?”

  “We know everything. I know that Mr. Snell came to you after speaking with a cop who I’m friends with,” said Tyler with a sly smile.

  “You set that job up for me? Why?”

  “Things just worked out. I found you, and figured you could use the money. I knew that you could handle the job.”

  Pulling himself from the sofa Falau walked across the room, searching his mind for why Tyler would’ve acted in that manner. Looking to his old friend he asked, “What’s the job?”

  “Well, it’s not exactly legal. But the work is good and it makes you feel good about what you are doing. That’s what you’re looking for, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. What’s the job?” asked Falau, more insistent.

  “Okay. I’ll tell you, but let me make one thing clear: what you’re about to hear does not go beyond you and me. If I tell you this, you must keep it to yourself forever. If you say anything about it to anyone at any time, there will be extreme consequences. Do you understand.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you still want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  “The job is simple to explain but hard to accomplish,” said Tyler, standing up. Sliding his hands into his pockets he went on. “There are nine judges from around the world. They make up a group that takes a second look at some cases.”

  “What do you mean, a second look?”

  “Nobody knows who the judges are. They only speak to one person. They look at cases where they know justice has not been served for numerous reasons. They need to retry these people, so they need to do that in a more secretive way.”

  Falau moved over to the window and looked outside, still listening to what Tyler had to say. He could feel the tension starting to build up inside him as he anticipated what Tyler would say next.

  “That’s where you come in. They like these defendants to be brought in for retrial. As you would guess, they’re not willing to do that, so they need to be helped to come back in. Basically, we take the scum that gets let off on technicalities, and give them a trial without all the crap.”

  “You mean you kill them,” said Falau, turning back to look at Tyler.

  “Not always. Some have even gone free. The judges just want justice. That’s all they care about. This is the purest form of justice you could have. For you it’s a chance to be on the right side of good. You can help right the wrongs that the courts screw up so often. You’re not a vigilante. You’re an agent of change... for the better.”

  Falau pushed back the hair from his eyes while still looking at the street down below. He couldn’t believe that he was speaking with Tyler about this kind of a job. You should be sitting on the step with Grady and drinking his one-shelf-below-the-top-shelf-whiskey and laughing, he thought.

  “Those days are gone for me. I can’t handle that anymore. Too old and too slow.”

  “You just did it the other day with Billy. I’m not saying it is the same as that snot nosed frat boy. Stakes are higher but it’s the same basic idea. You can do it. We need a guy who can work alone or with others. A guy like you understands on the art of cover. A guy like you knows the ins and outs of this work.”

  Turning back to the room Falau smiled at his longtime friend. “I can’t. It’s just not for me.”

  “I can understand that. But I would regret it if I didn’t tell you everything. The pay is $25,000 per job. Minimum. And you get to be one of the good guys.”

  “That’s a lot of money. I don’t make that much in a year,” replied Falau and looking down at the floor. “But I just can’t do it. I need to live a normal life. I can’t get involved with that kind of mess again. But your secret is safe with me.”

  “Falau, you can’t have a normal life. Not after what we lived through. I’m sure you have a lot of the same problems I do, and the only thing that lets me sleep at night is this work. You need to think about that,” explained Tyler. The sharp dressed young man walked across the room and pulled a business card from his pocket. “There’s a number on here and I’m the only one who ever picks up the phone. If you change your mind I’m just a call away. I would love to work with you again, old friend. Take care.”

  “You too.”

  Falau held the card in his hand as Tyler closed the door behind him. Looking down at the card Falau feared the temptation would prove too strong.

  Chapter 4

  THE WINDOW AT THE FAR end of the apartment was pulled open. Falau sat on the edge of the window sill looking down at the street wishing he had just stayed on the steps drinking with Grady. From a tall glass filled with whiskey he took a long sip. As day turned into night he could see ambulances rushing up the street, with police cars soon to follow. He could hear the sounds of couples arguing in the apartments around him, often followed by the sound of something smashing due to someone’s anger. A drunk stumbled up the street talking to himself. Falau wondered if this was all his future held for him.

  Downing the rest of the whiskey he pulled down the window to lock out the outside world. He stumbled into the bathroom, half filled with whiskey and half filled with disappointment at what his life had become. Staring into the mirror he saw a man that was very unhappy. A man that saw no future for himself. Swinging the medicine cabinet open he reached for some of the sleeping pills that had become an all too common feature of his life. They were the one and only thing he could ever count on to help shut out the flashbacks and nightmares that were his tortured past. Well, that, and mixing them with booz
e. Popping off the top of the bottle he could see there were just a few pills left, maybe just five or six. Dumping them all into his hand he stumbled back out of the bathroom. Slumping down on his bed he the grabbed the half finished bottle of whiskey and threw the pills into his mouth. Taking a long hard slug from the bottle he swilled them down into his stomach. He wasn’t sure if that amount of pills was even safe to take, but at this point he didn’t care. He took one last hard drag off the bottle, feeling the rush to his head. Placing the bottle on the floor he fell back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.

  “Just one night. Just one night without the dreams. Is that too much to ask?”

  Feeling the pills starting to overtake him, his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he let himself slip into a light sleep.

  With the promise of sleep on its way, the sound of an ambulance rushing down the street and its screaming siren broke through his potential slumber. Trying to open his eyes, he couldn’t fight the force of the pills now digging deep into his mind, and forcing the sleep to come, despite the distraction of the ambulance.

  Deep in the back of his consciousness he slipped into a state caught somewhere between asleep and awake. From there he could hear the scream of a woman and he desperately wanted to help her. The nightmare was coming on strong and there was no way it could be stopped. He felt like he was watching a movie but he was also somehow in the movie. The vision of dark hair zipped across his eyes as he saw the bloodstained mask of a woman’s face crossing his field of vision. He thrashed side to side in his bed to try and wake up, but it was no use. He was now stuck in the world where people try to control their dreams and change what’s going on. But Falau knew that could never happen. Like every other night before this, it was something he simply needed to endure. It was the worst kind of nightmare, the one where he could think. The ones that he just watched were so much easier. He would just have to go through the torture and come out the other side. In these nightmares, he knew he was simply being tortured, his mind forcing him to see the cold, hard images over and over again.