On The Edge

by Daniel Cleaver

  “Please, sir, I’m begging, I’m on own, I need help.”

  “Call the cops,” I teased.

  He shouted to the gang, “Hey, you leave! Now. These two are cops.”

  The gang glared in our direction and then marched towards us cockily. They knew their rights and knew just how far they could push us. I had a feeling it would be to the max, as each one showed their bravado in front of the others. The Korean smiled, pleased that he had deflected the gang’s attention onto us.

  Mia pulled out a can of Mace and held it in front of her. “I’m in no mood for any of your stupid crap, just one peep out of any one of you and I swear I’ll –”

  The guys looked horrified, their leader held up his hands in mock surrender. “No need for that, honey, we just law-abiding citizens going about our business.”

  Mia eyeballed each one of them, showing no fear. She utterly amazed me. I was very impressed: the woman never ceased to surprise me and I was keen to find out what else she could do. The gangbangers filed from the store and we followed them out. They sauntered down the street and veered off towards the beach. I saw Clarence with Jabba-The-Mutt and handed him a vegetarian sub and low-cal soda pop, hopefully he wouldn’t be offended by that. “How ya doing, man?” I asked.

  “You feel lucky, punk? Well, do ya?” Oh, Christ, he was Clint Eastwood again. This persona could go either way; however, he took the sub and devoured it, sharing it with his dog.

  I saw the guys in the green Impala surveying my home. I nodded in the direction of it. Mia turned slowly, saw them, and looked back at me.

  “Internal Affairs?” she guessed correctly, impressing me with her intuitive mind. “Why are the rat squad interested in you?” she asked, then grinned. “The Calvin Cooper death,” she said, answering her own question.

  “Yah,” I said with a shrug, presuming that she would want to go home now, rather than appear on their report. “They’ve been following me for a couple of days.”

  “They’re not very good at it, are they?”

  “Nope, that’s Conrad Snyder for ya.”

  “Who?”

  “Long story.”

  “I can’t have the rat squad see me enter your home. What can we do?”

  I addressed Clarence. “Have they been there all day?”

  He looked over at them. “Yup, I’m watching them, watching you. What you got up there – aliens?”

  I went to answer when I heard music, not unusual in Venice, but this was loud and bass-driven, coming from a parade of low rider muscle cars cruising in our direction. I said to Clarence. “You and Jabba might wanna vacate the area.” He saw the three cars, guessed their intent, and scooted off.

  “What is it?” Mia asked.

  “Bloods,” I said, nodding to the low riders.

  “At the Beach?” she was astounded.

  “Not often but it has happened before.” Just as I said it, a shot rang out. Someone screamed and full-scale panic ensued with late-night tourists fleeing for their lives. The Crips fired back and the red-wearing Bloods jumped from their cars and returned fire. Mia and I sat on the bench with ringside seats. We weren’t in any danger unless we were hit with a stray bullet but I wasn’t bothered and Mia appeared equally unfazed and we munched on our subs as the drama unfolded. Mia pointed to a black cat caught in the middle of it all with nowhere to hide. “Oh, the poor thing. It’s scared.”

  I stood and walked into the crossfire still munching on my BLT sub, holding up one hand as if I was surrendering. The gangbangers stared at me in total disbelief. I picked up the cat, no more than a kitten really and stroked it, and you never know, I might catch rabies from it. Can you catch rabies from cats? I’m going to have to check that out. I fed the cat a bit of bacon from my sub. I didn’t think a cat would whine on about cholesterol. It took it gratefully and purred. I strolled back into the battle zone when one of the Bloods was in my face. “Whatcha doing, fool?!” he bellowed, holding his gun at shoulder height and horizontally like he had seen gangstas do it on TV.

  I said, “Ya ain’t shooting anyone holding ya piece like that.”

  “Oh yeah,” he snarled, “why don’t I experiment on you?”

  “Go ahead,” I said nonchalantly, “you’ll probably hit one of your buddies or ya self, go on, take a shot.” I noticed some of his pals edging away.

  He looked me up and down, went to reply when I snatched the gun from his hand. He was horrified at the ease with which I took it. I smiled in a ‘how about that?’ sort of way.

  I turned to Mia, who was gazing at me in wonder. I said, “You should try the snatch, it’s easy.” I turned back to the Blood. “Hold this for me, would ya?”

  I handed him my sub and the cat, which he took, too shocked to speak. He backed away slowly. “Now, see, this is how ya should hold it.” I snapped into a two-footed stance and shoved the gun right up tight against his nose. I saw the fear in his eyes, which had started to water. “See, ya can’t miss, if ya do it like this.” He tried to raise his hands but was hampered by the cat and the sub.

  “What’re you doing?” he hissed. “You’re dissing me in front of my troops.”

  “Sorry, man, here.” To his total astonishment, I handed back the gun and he transferred over the cat and the sub. I saw him gulp deeply at how close he’d come to death. Maybe it would teach him a lesson, maybe he’d learn from the mistake, maybe he’d change his ways.

  “You is dead meat, you mother –” he yelled at my back.

  Maybe not.

  I saw Mia’s eyes change from wide-open wonder at my behavior to fright, but fate intervened and one of the Crips took a shot at him and winged him. The bloods fired back as they ran for their cars and screeched away. One of them fired a blast from an Uzi straight up into the air, causing more pandemonium.

  Mia hugged me and the cat to her. She was trembling. “That has to be one of the stupidest things I have ever seen.”

  “The cat was scared; it might’ve got hurt.”

  “I meant giving him his gun back.”

  I shrugged. “They’ll carry on having these shoot-outs and they’ll kill each other, sooner or later. It’s a lot less paperwork that way.”

  She laughed then I felt her stiffen. Something was happening over my shoulder; I quickly turned to see the original gang of Crips approaching. “Hey, Spooky, is that you?”

  I turned to see Ice Sickle. A long-time leader of the Crips gang, whom I happened to know. He did a complicated handshake that I tried to emulate. I noticed with satisfaction that Mia stared at me agog.

  “I knew that had to be you, man,” he giggled in a stoned fashion. “You’re the only crazy sonofabitch that’d do something as stupid as that.” He used his fingers to signal his gang to move in closer. “I want ya to meet the only straight cop – well, straightish in the barrio.” His gang was unimpressed and glowered at me for spoiling their rumble. “He’s an honorary Crip.” That impressed his gang. They made a collective hurh sound and bumped my knuckles as a sign of respect.

  “Hey, Ice Sickle, can ya do me a favor?”

  “Sure, man, we owe you big time, name it.”

  I quickly explained about the Internal Affairs guys who hadn’t moved an inch during the gunfight, stalking my duplex, and asked if they’d cause us a diversion, which appealed to them. Violence and a ‘screw you’ to the undercover cops. They swaggered off after another series of complicated handshakes and knuckle bumps.

  Mia looked at me in wonder. “How did you become a Crip?”

  “I got their leader off a murder rap.”

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as if I was on the take. “How come?”

  “It was a bum rap. He didn’t do it.”

  “It’s as simple as that for you, isn’t it? Right or wrong, innocent or guilty.” She smiled at me crookedly, “You really are a Boy Scout.”

  “Hey, I’m a Crip,” I said, trying to sound hurt. “I’m an honorary Blood, too,” I whispered to Mia, “but don’t tell them that.” />
  The Crips crept up to the Crown Vic and stealthily stole the hubcaps. Some surveillance! Ice Sickle stood in front of the car and waved their hubcaps at them, taunting. Snyder and his pal got out of the car and had his back to us, which was the distraction we needed to slip into my duplex.

  CHAPTER 21

  Homicide Special Section, 100 W 1st St 5th, Los Angeles, CA 90012 – 23:30.

  We’d been called back into work when the crime tech guys had finally found a way past the Hangman’s encrypted website. “Uh-oh,” said Ferdy, tapping his computer screen. “We’ve got a message.”

  We crowded around his computer screen as he tapped away at the keyboard and the pixilated dots formed a picture. It was a close-up of Candy’s face: she was in absolute terror and it was difficult to watch. I tried to be as disimpassioned as possible and make myself view as a neutral observer, but it was excruciating to watch her horror-filled eyes. She knew what was coming, I knew what was coming, and we were both powerless to do anything about it. The blood pumped around my veins and I was ready to kill the Hangman with my bare hands, to squeeze his throat until he was dead, to extinguish all life out of the monster and I would sleep soundly at night, no problem with that. I understood crimes of passion, the French used to have a law for it, le crime passionnel. The French prided themselves as being a passionate race and in the right, or wrong if you like, circumstances they would take passion as a mitigating circumstance. A jealous wife murdering an unfaithful husband or vice versa, was understood, that the betrayal could for an instant upset the balance of the mind and that they could smash the partner with something heavy or stab with a knife. This irrational behavior seemed perfectly rational to me. I understood and empathized. I thought it was a sensible law. If it could be proved without a doubt there was no planning involved, it had to be a spur of the moment when the red mist comes down. I bet most of us have been there, the complete and utter betrayal, of the one person who’s meant to love you more than life, could go off and have an affair behind your back – well, let’s just say I understood.

  Most other murders I can usually get, there’s always a motive, normally one of the big three, sex, money and these days drugs. Ready access to guns plays a big part. If you had to kill someone with your bare hands all up close and personal would reduce the murder rate by half overnight, maybe even higher, but that was never going to happen. Once again, it’s being driven insane by a relative when the red mist comes down and you can just point a gun and shut ’em up: the temptation was too easy, the fool on the freeway, pull out the gun and whack! One less irritant. The unhelpful teller in the bank, shoot ’em right between the eyes, even the inconsiderate fools who let their cellphone ring in the movie theater, for a moment, for only sometimes a fraction of a second. I have to control myself and not whip out my pistol and shoot them in the back of the head. I understood the uncontrollable rage. I’d had to deal with it all my life. However, we have rules to live by, our moral codes, that stop ninety-nine-point-nine percent of us from not stepping over the line and taking a life.

  Milo gasped. “Look at the subscriber numbers, it’s nearly a million.”

  George cleared his throat. “On an up note,” he waited to get everyone’s attention, “we’re in the clear.”

  “How so?” the captain asked with an expectant note in his voice, for the first time in a long time.

  “That’s a live broadcast and we’re all here, so as far as it being a cop in this department, we’re each other’s alibi.” It became clear that he thought logically and with relief, he and Milo slapped hands.

  Milo turned to me and said, “I never doubted you for a minute.”

  “Nor me,” said the captain.

  Thanks a bunch! I think my expression must have given me away because the captain continued. “The evidence pointed towards this department. I analyzed the facts and I thought it possible that one of you had done it.”

  Mia said, “So, how are we going to catch him? We don’t know where he lives, where he works, what he looks like – nothing. He’s like a ghost and he has disappeared into thin air twice.”

  “Maybe he is a ghost?” Milo said eerily.

  “No, he ain’t, ya jerk,” I said.

  “Stranger things have happened,” Milo said.

  “No, they ain’t. We’re dealing with a truly evil mind, that’s all. A brilliant, devious mind that has outfoxed us so far but he’ll slip up, they always do, and then we’ll catch him.”

  “Hold up,” said Ferdy, getting our attention. “Something’s going on, look.” He pointed at the wall monitor and we saw the rope tighten around Candy’s throat. It pulled tighter and we saw her choking; the Hangman released Candy’s legs and she kicked out at him. That’s my girl, you keep at it, don’t give up, I willed her on. The Hangman released her wrists and her hands immediately went to the rope around her neck where she desperately tried to alleviate the pain but to no avail, the rope hoisted her up in the air and she disappeared from view. The Hangman changed the angle of the camera and zoomed in on her face as she turned purple, then blue. She choked and gasped for breath, her eyes bulged and her tongue protruded from her mouth, foam bubbles spilled over her lips. Eventually, she slumped as she passed out. The Hangman listened to her heart with a stethoscope. I heard the whirring of the motor as she was gently lowered back down against the table which, in turn, lowered back into the horizontal position. The Hangman addressed the camera and his voice distorter gave him a metallic boom. “That’s all, for now, folks, that was just an appetizer. Tune in one hour from now for the drawing and quartering part of this execution. If you don’t know what that is, I can assure you that it’s well worth the wait, look it up on Google. One hour.” Then the screen went blank.

  We sat in silence for a moment, each unsettled and trying to comprehend the pain Candy was going through. She must have hoped that the hanging and her subsequent blacking out was it, that she would die and the torture was all over, only to find when she comes around that she is about to face worse.

  Much worse.

  CHAPTER 22

  The captain opened his filing cabinet and unscrewed his emergency bottle of Jack Daniel’s. We all took it gratefully and the liquid burned the back of my throat but I needed it to steel my nerve. I suggested we watch the video again. George accused me of being a pervert and that I was going to get my rocks off watching Candy’s strangling. I thought it was important. “Candy was, is, a professional. Let’s watch this closely, she knows it’s being filmed, I figure she’ll try and give us a signal.”

  “No chance,” George scoffed. “She’s being strangled. She had more pressing things on her mind.”

  “Let’s just take a look.”

  “I’m not watching again,” he said.

  “Nor me,” said Milo, crossing himself.

  The captain went back into his office and said wearily, “Let me know if you find anything.”

  This left Mia, Ferdy and me. Ferdy reset the recording and we turned the sound down. At least we would not have to listen to her groans of pain. When the Hangman released her hands, she clawed at her throat. I noticed something and leaned forward.

  “What is it?” Mia asked.

  I held up my hand and moved closer to the screen. I pointed at her fingers moving. They weren’t clawing at the rope; she was very deliberately moving her fingers up and down.

  “What’s she doing?” asked Mia.

  “I’m gonna guess Morse code.” I turned to Ferdy. “Do ya know it?”

  Ferdy looked highly impressed. “I’m a little rusty . . . no, it’s not Morse code. Hey, I think she’s using the binary system. Do you know what that is?”

  “Sure,” I said, “One, ten, hundred, on-off, whatever.”

  “Yes, but she won’t be using one hundred, the alphabet only goes to twenty-six. I’m guessing one equals a, two b, and so on.”

  “That is amazing,” gasped Mia. “Is she, is she telling us who the killer is?”

  Milo heard our
excited reactions to the recording and joined us at the computer screen. “She’s very brave.”

  “Captain, you’re gonna wanna see this!” I shouted out.

  George turned his bulk around in his chair and wheeled over closer. “What you got?”

  Ferdy fiddled with the screen until we were close on her fingers. “She doesn’t quite finish the message but it’s something to start with.”

  “That is fantastic, finally, a breakthrough,” said the captain in awe.

  “She’s a truly remarkable woman,” said Mia in amazement. “She’s dying but a true cop to the end, thinking to transmit a message.”

  “Utterly incredible,” said the captain. “This is our chance to redeem ourselves. Let’s get the message deciphered and go save her life.”

  * * *

  I downshifted my Camaro, with Mia sitting next to me: we had the lights flashing and the siren blaring but the slow-moving traffic clogged the streets and we crawled at what felt like a snail’s pace. The captain was at the front of the convoy with Ferdy in his Crown Vic, and Milo and George were in a similar car taking up the rear. It was close to midnight. We had the address where the Hangman was holding Candy and we were the closest vehicles, but the traffic was stacked up and we were never going to make it in time. I slammed my hand on the steering wheel in frustration and then laid on the horn. The police sirens weren’t having the effect we hoped. It’s as if we had lost the collective respect of the public overnight. We edged slowly as the vehicles moved over reluctantly. We were never going to get there. We might be able to radio ahead to nearby uniforms but the captain wanted to keep it in-house and didn’t think the uniforms would be any match for the Hangman. He didn’t trust them to be able to take on the Hangman, or more importantly not get themselves killed. Ferdy had finally worked it out we only had the letters M, I, T, E, which wasn’t much help. We tossed around anything that popped into our heads, but as you can imagine none were even close to making a sensible word, to identify a person or a place. Thankfully, he was a computer nerd and fed the letters into some customized program he’d devised which calculated Miter Storage as the most likely match. We dug some more and found that it had been abandoned some years ago. It was a bank foreclosure and no one wanted it, as it was at the wrong end of Sunset Strip. What would have attracted the Hangman was that it was isolated, no nearby neighbors, and as it was an old, disused sound studio it had the bonus of soundproofing. Miter Storage warehouse was up near the start of the canyons. What is it with the canyons? We tore up La Cienega Boulevard but at this rate we weren’t going to arrive until ten minutes after the time of the promised drawing and quartering. Even if the streets were empty, we’d be lucky to get there on time. I couldn’t wait for the captain’s pussyfooting style of driving. I whipped over into the oncoming traffic and floored it; the cars swerved and tooted but it wasn’t as if they couldn’t see the police lights. George dropped in behind me. I saw the captain shaking his fist as I overtook but I noticed he tucked in behind George.