A Rose From The Executioner

by Edward Izzi

  Russo only looked at me and smiled. He didn’t even look shocked, only shaking his head in amuse-ment. He then stepped on the accelerator and peeled his squad car out of the fitness center parking lot.

  At that moment, I knew it was only a matter of time.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chicago Fire

  The summer sun was beginning to linger past five o’clock, as the warm extended evenings began to push back the late June sunsets. I had been sitting in my car for almost an hour, drinking a diet Coke and eating a Jimmy John’s ham and cheese sub. I was parked about a half a block away from the old, brownstone church on West Division Street, trying to do more surveillance on any activity going on there.

  After four “Pedophile Priest Murders”, we didn’t have any conclusive DNA evidence to match up to any of the suspects in these homicides. Kilbane’s DNA and Bartell’s DNA samples were a negative at all the crime scenes, and I neglected to steal anything from Russo’s house (like a toothbrush or a comb) for DNA testing at the crime labs. Russo’s personal vehicle was a late model Ford Mustang, not an older model Ford Explorer, so all my bets were running high that he would show up at this meeting at this old church on Division Street.

  It was the third Thursday of the month, and according to the neighborhood witnesses, the abandoned building was used once a month by a ‘bunch of guys wearing tuxedos’, going in and out one at a time. I had a funny feeling after my unofficial ‘search’ of Russo’s house that this was the place where the ‘secret society’ or the Society of the Rose Crucifix has their monthly meeting. The plan was that I was going to wait for Russo to show up, and Tommy Morton and I were going to confront him then. Morton was on another stack-out on another case in the district, so he agreed to come here as soon as he could.

  It was just past 6:00pm, when I noticed one guy, dressed in a tuxedo, enter the abandoned church, using a key to enter the building. At 6:15pm, another guy, also dressed in a tuxedo, entered the building. Same routine at 6:30, 6:45 and 7:00. Using my high-power Minolta camera lens, I took pictures of everyone entering the abandoned church. It seemed that they were entering the building one at a time, every fifteen minutes.

  I checked my watch and I called Tommy. It was almost 7:15pm, and he still hadn’t showed up to assist me in this surveillance. I tried calling and texting him. His only response was that he was on his way. Another well-dressed guy in a penguin suit showed up to open the old door, again using his own key. At that point, I counted nine guys who had individually entered the abandoned church, but so far, no Russo. Tommy Morton still hadn’t showed up to assist me.

  I had researched that there were ‘supposedly’ at least twelve individuals, plus their grand knight, which totaled thirteen individuals that were a part of this secret society. I presumed that their entrance pattern would continue until at least eight o’clock.

  I looked at my watch again. It was 7:35pm, and still, no Tommy.

  At 7:45pm, I noticed Paul Russo walking along the south side of West Division Street towards the abandoned church. He was wearing his tuxedo, of course and was carefully looking around to see if he was being followed. I was nervous approaching him by myself, but I figured that I had no other choice. I got out of my car at that point and waited for him to insert his key into the front door of the old church.

  “Russo!” I yelled out, as I quickly ran towards him before he entered the church.

  “Need to bring you in to answer some questions,” I officially said.

  He must have recognized me immediately, as he quickly unlocked the door and entered inside. At that point, I called for back-up, hoping there would be some other squad cars in the area.

  I knocked hard on the front door of the building, which was dead-bolted and locked, of course. I could hear a lot of commotion going on inside, as I continued to knock and announced that I was a ‘Chicago P.D.’ and demanded that they ‘open up’.

  Two squad cars had then showed up on West Division Street, and another squad car on South Ashland Avenue to give me the backup that I needed. At that point, I decided to shoot out the locks on the front door and enter the building, with my Glock revolver cocked and loaded.

  As I entered the building, I was jumped by two individuals wearing red masks, with one putting his arm around my neck while the other grabbed my gun. They must have known that there were other squad cars behind me, and they quickly pulled me towards the east side of the church.

  From what I could tell, there were at least six or seven red hooded men wearing black tuxedos standing in front of me, demanding to know who I was.

  “Detective Dorian, Chicago P.D.’ was all I managed to say, as another hooded ‘knight began to confront me, holding a large knife. My arms and hands were held and pulled behind my back as I suddenly felt an excoriating pain spurn deeply into my stomach. As I looked down, the hooded member managed to pump the knife into my abdomen two or three times, as the blood started to spew out of my shirt and jacket. I lost my breath and I could no longer breathe, as I collapsed onto the floor. The knife still in my stomach, and there was blood gushing everywhere. The pain was excruciating, and I must have fell unconscious.

  That was the last thing I remember.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  ‘Circondare’

  “We are being invaded” Brother Rueben yelled out, as Brother Cain and Brother Abel dropped the fallen police detective onto the floor. The ‘secret society’ had an ‘escape drill’ which was part of their ritual code.

  “Circondare” loudly exclaimed Brother Aaron, which was the society code word for ‘encircle and self-destruct.’ It was part of their society code that if the Society of the Rose Crucifix were ever invaded unexpectedly by an outsider, that the stranger would be immediately stabbed and destroyed.

  As was part of their ritual, all the brother knights then formed a circle around the marble alter, holding each other’s had and saying the Lord’s prayer out loud. The knights that were encircled around the altar were Brothers Jebediah, Cain, Abel, Jacob, Zebedee, Jeramiah, Aaron, Adam, Rueben and Ebenezer. Another prayer in Latin was quickly said as the Chicago Police began entering the church with their guns drawn.

  “May the Lord have mercy on our souls,” exclaimed Brother Jacob, as he had earlier grabbed the three sticks of dynamite that were taped underneath the altar. He pulled out his lighter, lit up the three sticks of explosives and threw them into the middle of the church.

  “Wait…stop,” yelled one of the patrolman, as a large explosion suddenly occurred. Flames began to combust and surround the inner structure of the church building as it quickly detonated the inner wooden beams and structures.

  The other policemen began to retreat outside, as several firetrucks from the Chicago Fire Department began to arrive. At that point, Detective Tommy Morton showed up at the scene of the fire and looked around for his partner.

  “Has anyone seen Dorian?” he asked several firefighters and other policeman that were nearby. He tried calling his partner several times, but there was no answer.

  For some odd reason, Morton must have figured out that his partner was inside of the old abandoned church at the time of the explosion. Without hesitation, he ran into the burning church, looking for Dorian.

  As the flames were engulfing the already burnt structure, Morton looked around the front of the vestibule and on the east side of that church. At that point, he saw a man lying on the marble floor, with a knife sticking out of his stomach, surrounded in a pool of blood. He quickly called the assistance of another firefighter, who was helping the other firefighter in trying to put out the blaze. The two of them then managed to drag out Dorian, whose body seemed lifeless as he was being carried out and onto an awaiting stretcher. He was then placed on a gurney and quickly loaded onto and Chicago EMS Truck, while a paramedic began working on his vitals and administering oxygen.

  “How does he look?” Morton asked one of the paramedics.

  “Not good. He has a faint pulse and has lost a l
ot of blood.” Dorian had apparently been stabbed several times in the abdomen and was fighting for his life.

  Morton and a few other policeman went to assist the other paramedics and began pulling bodies out of the burning building. By that time, the news trucks began showing up at the scene. Chaz Rizzo ran out of the news truck and approached Tommy Morton.

  “Where’s Dorian?”

  “He was in the building when it exploded. He was cut up pretty good,” he managed to say, trying hard not to get emotional.

  ‘They’re taking him over to the hospital now.”

  Rizzo swallowed hard as he tried to collect his composure, then called the news cameras over while trying to get additional information from the other fire chiefs and police that were there.

  Several bodies started being recovered from the fire scene, as the building was so inflamed that it was impossible for all the firemen to assess how many more people were inside. It wasn’t until several hours later, well past midnight, that the firemen and EMT’s were able to re-enter the building.

  It was well after 2:00am when the flames were completely extinguished, and a crime scene tape had been circled around the burnt down structure. Three bodies were immediately recovered but were pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital. Four more bodies were pulled from the burning building but died at the scene from their burn injuries. The final three bodies were not immediately recovered until all the burning debris was removed the next morning. Those three bodies had been charred beyond recognition and were surrounding the front of the church around the now destroyed, marble altar. There were ten fatalities in all, with one injured policemen in critical condition.

  Chaz Rizzo began his nightly news feed for Channel Eight Eyewitness news for the ten o’clock broadcast and began reporting on the church explosion and the number of fatalities inside. He began getting emotional when he announced the name of the injured police detective:

  “Detective Phillip Dorian, a twenty-five-year veteran of the Chicago Police Department in the Sixteenth District, had been critically injured, enduring several stab wounds by the alleged assailants before being rescued from the burning structure. He has been taken to Rush Medical Hospital,” he emotionally announced.

  He then wiped the tears from his eyes as he tried to complete his newscast:

  “Detective Dorian is in very critical condition, and is fighting for his life,” he ended.

  “This is Chaz Rizzo, live at West Division and Ashland Avenues, Eyewitness News.”

  Rizzo then walked over to his news truck and tearfully, lit up a cigarette. He wiped his eyes, as he awaited the news of the medical condition of his detective friend from Rush Medical Hospital.

  The waiting room of Rush Medical Hospital was filled with police and detectives from the Sixteenth District, as Superintendent Ryan showed up along with a few of the ‘Ivory Tower’ top brass. Commander Callahan met the Superintendent at the door and gave him a briefing of what had happened and Dorian’s condition.

  “He’s fighting for his life, Superintendent. He’s endured several deep stab wounds to his abdomen, and there has been serious damage to his intestines, his stomach and his spleen.”

  “How does it look,” Ryan asked.

  “It’s not good,” the Commander replied.

  At point, several other people from the media started walking into the waiting room of the Rush Hospital emergency department and began asking questions about Dorian’s condition before the other patrolman started to throw them out.

  Chaz Rizzo was one of the throng of reporters, as he approached Tommy Morton.

  “How is he, Tommy? Any word?”

  “He’s been in surgery for the last three hours. The doctors are trying to repair the damage to his intestines and his stomach. The doctors said it looked pretty bad.”

  “What else are the doctors saying?”

  Tommy looked at Rizzo, as he started getting emotional.

  “They’re giving him a less than fifty percent chance of survival. Way too much internal damage.”

  Tommy was wiping the tears from his eyes as Rizzo gave him a long, hard hug.

  “We gotta stay positive,” Rizzo said. “Dorian is a strong guy. He’ll pull through.”

  The emergency room was still filled with throngs of policeman and Dorians’ daughter, who was being comforted by the other detectives and their families. It wasn’t until 2:00am before one of the doctors emerged from the surgery room.

  “We were able to repair the internal damage to his intestine and his stomach. We had to remove his appendix and gall bladder, but we were able to save his spleen. It looks hopeful.” Dr. Fanelli said, the head surgeon in charge.

  “He will be using a bag for a while, but his condition is improving.”

  The words ‘Thank God’ and sighs of relief around the room were in order. Those words were practically said in unison by the forty or more people gathered in the emergency waiting room for the update on Dorian’s condition.

  Everyone seemed to be feeling better, but no one was more relieved than Chaz Rizzo. Although he always had a rocky relationship with the Detective at best, he respected and greatly admired Phil Dorian. He was a good cop, and a good man, thought to himself. He had been sitting in the corner of the waiting room, his head buried in his hand, as if to be in deep prayer. When the doctor emerged from surgery, he immediately hugged Tommy Morton and began to cry, a sound of both thankfulness and relief.

  “Thank god,” he exclaimed to Morton. He then grabbed a cigarette from his coat pocket and went outside to smoke off his stress and worry.

  _________________________________________

  Sal Marrocco was at his Burr Ridge home watching the 10:00 o’clock news. He was trying to calm himself down with a glass of wine when he saw the Chaz Rizzo broadcast on Channel 8 Eyewitness News.

  The Consigliere was visibly shaken. He had abruptly returned home that evening, after he had tried to make his way to the old abandoned, brownstone church. He was running late to that meeting when he approached the West Division address at 8:00pm and noticed all the police cars parked in front of the old church building.

  He knew of the policy that was practiced by the SRC membership when a stranger infiltrated the ‘secret society’. He was aware of the ‘Circondare’ procedure, knowing that they would have to self-destruct and destroy their secret organization.

  As he watched the news broadcast, he said a quick prayer to himself. He now realized that all his remaining fraternity brothers had been killed and destroyed in the church explosion.

  Marrocco was extremely upset and emotional about the loss of his brother knights, although he did not personally know any of them. Everyone wore red masks and concealed their identities. He never had a chance to develop any friendships or attachments to any of these men, yet he was still visibly upset and stunned. He never got to know any of these hooded members and fellow comrades. Marrocco only knew, because of their common mission and manifest, that there was no need or necessity to ever develop any personal attachments or comradery with any of the members of their ancient fraternity. It was as though each member stoically served the discrete organization as expendable soldiers, and their membership was another means to a justifiable end. With the ten members perishing in the church explosion, he knew everyone was gone.

  He thought about their valuable rings and hoped that each member’s precious ‘SRC’ ring had been either destroyed in the fire, or would be buried with its deceased members, as was their ‘secret society’ tradition. Because the rings were 18 karat Italian gold, these were more susceptible to being destroyed and probably melted in the explosion, Marrocco figured.

  ‘Brother Tobiah’ was now the only surviving member of the Society of the Rose Crucifix.

  The Consigliere finished his glass of wine and tearfully, shut off the television.

  “We shall return,” he said to himself.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Hockey Game

  I felt uncomfortab
le sitting in a wheelchair, as I was being processed by the nurses and staff at Rush Medical Hospital for my release. It had been two months and three operations later after that grizzly church fire that almost cost me my life. My stomach has been literally destroyed by the knife wounds, and I was so tired of wearing that bag until my stomach had fully healed. I was told I would have to wear the bag for a few more weeks until my stomach and intestines had fully healed.

  I owed at tremendous debt to Tommy Morton for pulling me out of that building before it exploded, as I was told. I didn’t remember much after confronting Russo and the hooded brother knights. That night was still a huge blur in my mind.

  Morton was standing by the revolving door as the nurses put the finishing touches on my release. A nurse greeted him as he walked over to me while I was still sitting in my wheelchair, and we shook hands and he gave me a brief hug. I called him to pick me up and bring me home earlier that morning, as no one else was available.

  “So glad you’re feeling better,” he exclaimed.

  “Thanks for coming, Tommy. I hear I owe you my life.”

  “Buy me a coffee, Dorian. Otherwise, you owe me nothing,” he valiantly replied.

  Morton was always a modest guy, and his lack of ego and easy demeanor was something that I always admired about him. As I was signing my release documents, another nurse approached me from the pharmacy.

  “You need to take one pill a day for pain,” she said, as she handed me a filled prescription of acetaminophen. “If you’re still in a lot of pain after one pill, give us a call.”

  It was a vile with at least 20 pills. I knew that getting addicted to these opioids would be an easy thing for me to do with all the other aches and pains I was feeling from this injury.

  Morton helped me get into the car and I was more than grateful for the ride home. We made some small talk about his wife and kids, and he decided to ask me some personal questions.

  “Have you heard from your ‘insurance executive’ girlfriend lately?” he asked.