Black Lotus

by K'wan

  Detective Wolf’s legs felt like noodles, but he forced himself to stand. His bloody lips drew back into a sneer. “Is that the best the Brotherhood of Blood has got? It’s no wonder you sons of bitches are damn near extinct.”

  “Let’s see where that wit of yours is when I make you bleed out on this carpet.” The Black Lotus drew three stilettos from some hidden compartment in his clothes.

  Wolf stared at the blades. “Weapons against an unarmed man? I thought your order had some code of honor,” he said, moving out of arm’s reach and closer to his gun, which was still lying on the floor.

  “Honor went out the window when you threw in your lot with child murderers,” the Black Lotus countered before advancing with the stilettos.

  Just as the Black Lotus moved in to finish him, Wolf lunged for his gun. He slid across the floor on his back, arms outstretched and hope in his heart. His fingertips had just made contact with the grip of his weapon when one of the stilettos was plunged through the palm of his hand, pinning it to the floor. The Black Lotus straddled Wolf’s chest, forced his other arm out so that his palm was exposed, and drove the second stiletto through it, stretching him out like Jesus on the cross.

  “Stupid . . . just stupid.” The Black Lotus kicked the gun across the floor and straddled Wolf’s chest, holding the remaining stiletto over him. “You should’ve let me do my work. You came to be a martyr, so a martyr you shall be.” The killer plunged the last stiletto into the detective’s stomach.

  Wolf could neither move nor cry out. He simply lay there, feeling himself bleed out, just as the Black Lotus had promised. Wolf had often wondered what, if anything, people experienced when they died. Was there some great light at the end of the tunnel, or was it a quiet nothingness? From the numbness setting into his fingers and toes, he knew it wouldn’t be long before his curiosity was satisfied.

  Several small explosions erupted somewhere in the distance. Through his haze of pain Detective Wolf could see the Black Lotus staggering as another explosion sounded and the killer was knocked through the large picture window.

  Lifting his head as best he could, Wolf saw Margaret standing in the middle of the room, frightened and disheveled. In her hands she held his smoking .45. The woman he had tried to save from vigilante justice had extracted a bit of justice of her own. One evil had trumped the other and the game had come to an end. Part of him wanted to kiss her on the lips for saving his life, and the other half wanted to handcuff her, but he was too weak to do either. A chill ran through his body, landing in the pit of his stomach and gradually spreading through his limbs and face. He was cold and just wanted to sleep, so he nodded off into sweet oblivion of the afterlife, knowing that in its own twisted way, karma had sorted everything out.

  CHAPTER 11

  Wolf was sitting beachside in St. Thomas, sipping rum coladas with half a dozen local beauties. One of them was feeding him strawberries from between her breasts when his dream was interrupted by a flash of light. Wolf blinked, and the dream faded, with his beach chair and white sands being replaced by a hospital bed and white walls. There were multiple tubes snaking from beneath the flimsy blanket covering him, connecting to monitors which kept track of his vital signs. His hands were heavily wrapped in gauze, and though he could wiggle his fingers, he couldn’t feel them. An oxygen mask covered his nose and mouth, helping him to breathe. When he tried to move, pain shot through his gut and he remembered that he had been stabbed, and everything else came back to him. He was in bad shape, but considering what could’ve been, he had come out on top.

  As the fog rolled back from his mind and his vision cleared, he could see two people standing over him. One was Captain Marx; the other was holding a camera and kept snapping pictures of him. Every time the bulb flashed, his eyes stung a bit. Sensing his discomfort, Captain Marx dismissed the photographer and closed the door behind him.

  Marx strode to Wolf’s bedside and pulled one of the hospital chairs over. He sat down and for a few long moments, he and Wolf just stared at each other. When he felt like the pissing contest had gone on long enough, he spoke.

  “How you doing, Jimmy?”

  “How does it look like I’m doing?” Wolf’s tone was labored and his voice muffled by the oxygen mask, but his irritation was apparent.

  “Yeah, you were in pretty bad shape when they found you. The doctors say had it not been for Mrs. Stone’s quick thinking and keeping your wound compressed, you’d have likely bled out.”

  “Remind me to thank her when I arrest her ass,” Wolf said.

  “Is that any way to talk about the woman who has made you a national celebrity?” Marx asked, holding up the newspaper that had been tucked under his arm so Wolf could read the headline. Hero Cop Foils Assassination Attempt. On the cover was a picture of him when they had first brought him into the hospital. Also in the picture was Margaret Stone. She was kneeling at his bedside surrounded by a dozen uniformed police officers, all with their heads bowed, while she led them in prayer for their injured comrade. The story detailed how one of the girls who Margaret’s organization had been helping was an informant on a drug case Detective Wolf had been working. When he came to the Stone residence for a scheduled meeting with the young woman to take her statement, he had stumbled upon the crime scene. Dirk Stone had already died by the time he arrived, but he was able to stop the attempted assassination of Margaret Stone, almost at the cost of his own life. The story included a quote from Margaret Stone: “This man is a hero and a saint. He should be given a medal for what he has done not only for me and my girls, but for the city of New York.”

  Detective Wolf shook his head. “What a load of bullshit.”

  “You and I both know it, but the general public only knows what the media feeds them, which is best for all parties involved. On the upside, we managed to catch the priest’s killer,” Captain Marx explained. He flipped to the next page of the article which told the tale of a rash of murders that had been happening around the city over the past few days. They even had a picture of the culprit. Corporal R. Braddock was ex-military and connected to a black-ops unit that had done some nasty things while behind enemy lines, all in the name of serving their country. During his second tour of duty, Corporal Braddock had suffered a severe head injury and was honorably discharged. Yet when he came back from the war, he found himself, like many other veterans, displaced and left to fend for himself. Braddock looked different dressed in a military uniform, clean shaven and alert, but Wolf recognized the man he had come to know simply as Roger.

  “Roger isn’t the Black Lotus and you know it,” Wolf groaned.

  “Yeah, but the evidence says differently. We found Roger in a van a few blocks away from the crime scene. He put up one hell of a fight, taking out three of ours before blowing his own brains out. Poor bastard had no plans on going to trial with this. When we tossed the van, we found the murder weapon that had been used to kill both the priest and Poncho. The only prints on it were Roger’s. The city is safe again, you get your promotion, and I take early retirement, going out as the man who stopped the biggest serial killer since the DC sniper. Everybody wins.”

  “Everybody except the family of the boy whose murder you helped cover up,” Detective Wolf said, surprising the captain. “I know about you, Margaret, and the priest, Tommy. You taught me everything I know about being a cop. You’re the one who showed me that putting my ass on the line night in and night out was worth it because of the good we do on the streets, but you’re a fraud like the rest. I watched you piss all over the same badge you always told me to honor and respect.”

  “Don’t you dare judge me for making the hard calls,” Captain Marx snarled in Wolf’s face. “For thirty years I risked my life for this city, even took several bullets, all in the line of duty. I never once complained about it, because it’s what I signed on for when I took the oath to serve and protect. It’s war on these streets and they’re winning, so sometimes you’ve got to make your own rules to balance things out bet
ween us and the scum. You of all people should understand that. How many times have you bent the rules to get the job done?”

  “Yeah, I’ve bent the rules more than a few times, but I’ve never broken them, and that’s what you did when you thought it was a good idea to feed children to a pedophile,” Detective Wolf shot back.

  Marx shrugged. “We’re all guilty of making poor decisions when it comes to family. My dad was a pervert and your dad was a junkie, but no matter how fucked up our parents were, there will always be parts of us that still seek the approval a son can only get from a father. Those kids were selling ass anyhow, so after a while I convinced myself that if it wasn’t me paying them, it’d be somebody else. Johnny Gooden changed all that. After we helped to clean that mess up, we cut all ties with that sick old bastard. To be honest, I was relieved when he was killed. It meant I didn’t have to worry about him hurting any more kids.”

  “Then why send me after the Black Lotus instead of tanking this case like you did Johnny Gooden’s?”

  “Once I realized that the Black Lotus was the one who had killed my father, I knew it could’ve only been because of what happened to Johnny. And if someone had set the Black Lotus to the task of making things right, I figured it would only be a matter of time before the rest of us were paid visits. I needed an insurance policy and you were it.”

  “How?”

  Marx chuckled. “That should be obvious considering the outcome of your meeting. You and the Black Lotus have more in common than you think. You’re both self-righteous and volatile, neither of you budge on your principles, and both of you will go the extra mile to get your point across. I never expected you to arrest the Black Lotus, I expected you to kill him.”

  “Your own personal attack dog,” Detective Wolf said, with the pieces finally starting to fall into place.

  “Send a killer to stop a killer.”

  “We both know that Roger isn’t the Black Lotus, so the assassin is still out there. What’s to stop him from finishing the job and taking you out?” Wolf asked.

  “We have the late Mr. Dirk Stone to thank for that. He had a five-million-dollar life insurance policy with Margaret as the sole beneficiary. One million of that will be paid to the Brotherhood. That should be enough to buy out the Black Lotus’s contract and compensate for any inconveniences.”

  “You’ve got it all mapped out, huh?”

  “Advanced planning is why I was able to survive thirty years of policing New York streets.”

  “You know I’m going to come after you and your sister for the parts you played in covering up that boy’s murder. This isn’t over,” Detective Wolf vowed.

  “Oh, but I think it is,” Captain Marx countered. “Everyone is satisfied with this outcome. Lots of innocent people got hurt from digging up old graves the first time around and we don’t want a repeat of that. No telling how far the innocent bloodshed will spill this time and who it will affect, maybe even that pretty daughter of yours and her mother down in Florida.”

  Detective Wolf removed the oxygen mask from his face and stared Captain Marx in his eyes. “You threatening me?”

  Marx patted Wolf’s bandaged hand. “You’re family, I’d never threaten you. I’m just telling you that you should pick your battles, Jimmy. Now, when you’re feeling up to it, the chief is going to pay you a visit, bringing a bunch of reporters with him. You’re going to give them some bullshit speech about how thrilled you are to be a public servant, accept your promotion and your commendation, and consider your sketchy-ass career started over with a clean slate. No more, no less. I’ll be right here with you to make sure you stick to the script.” He stood to leave. “It’s already done, so fighting it is only going to hurt you.” He tossed the newspaper onto Wolf’s lap. “You can hold onto that in case you wanna brush up on the story you’re going to feed the media. I’m getting out of here so you can spend some time with your girlfriend.”

  “My who?”

  “Your girlfriend,” Captain Marx repeated. “She’s been here every day since they brought you in. With all due respect, that’s one fine piece of ass. I’m proud of you, kid.” He winked and left the room.

  Detective Wolf had no idea who Captain Marx was talking about. A few seconds later, it became clear when the woman walked into the room. She had changed her appearance yet again, this time dressed in tight jeans, flat shoes, and a T-shirt that read, Vote or Die. Her dark hair hung loose around her face, though it appeared not to have been combed that day. She still had that bright inquisitive look in her eyes she’d had when they’d last confronted each other, only some of the luster was gone. She seemed tired and was limping slightly. Hugged to her chest she held an iPad, almost identical to the one he had smashed in the parking lot.

  “You got that replaced pretty quick.” He nodded at the iPad.

  Kahllah shrugged. “What can I say? Apple has a great protection plan. Do you mind if I sit?” She gestured at the chair Captain Marx had vacated.

  “I have a feeling that even if I say no, you’re gonna do what you want anyhow.” Wolf watched as she pulled the chair close to the bed and eased down into it. Her movements seemed pained. “First you were a writer for Essence and now you’re my girlfriend? Do your lies ever get you what you want?”

  “There is a fine line between lies and truth and that all depends on who you ask.” She leaned over and tapped the bottom corner of the newspaper article the Daily News had run about Wolf. The writer was listed as K.E. Amin.

  “You wrote this article?”

  “One of my many pen names,” Kahllah replied. “I told you that if there was a story hiding beneath all this, I would find it and bring it to light.”

  “Then you should change the batteries in your flashlight,” Detective Wolf laughed. When he did, his body was rocked with pain from his wounds. Once the pain had passed, he was able to speak again. “You need to recheck your facts.”

  “Oh, I’m well aware of the facts, detective. I know all about Johnny Gooden and the Black Lotus. I’ve done my due diligence, but I decided that in the end it was best for me to give the public what they want as opposed to what they need.”

  “So they’ve got you in their pocket too?”

  Kahllah laughed. “I’m claustrophobic, so being in anyone’s pocket would never work for me. I’m just a journalist who went in search of some truth.”

  “And did you find it?”

  Kahllah paused before answering. “I’d say so.”

  “Would you care to share?”

  “I could write a novel on everything I’ve learned, but I’ll give you the meat and potatoes of it. Good people can sometimes be put in situations where they have to do bad things in order to really make a difference.”

  Wolf nodded, digesting what she had just said. “That makes sense.”

  “Well, I don’t want to take up too much of your time because I know you need your rest. I just wanted to pop in on you and kind of apologize for the way I came at you the other day about the Richie Dutton thing.”

  “Wow, you don’t strike me as the apologetic type,” Wolf said.

  “I’m not, but I’m not too stubborn to admit when I was wrong about something, and I was wrong about you.”

  “So you don’t think I’m a killer anymore?”

  “Oh, I know without question that you are a killer, Detective Wolf, just not a cop killer.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “Because you’re one of the few who still believes in justice.” Kahllah gave him a wink. “Take care of yourself, detective.” She patted him on the leg and for the first time he noticed the bandage on her hand.

  “What happened?” he asked, gesturing at the bandage.

  Kahllah looked down at her wrapped hand. “My boyfriend likes to play a little rough sometimes. I’ve suffered worse, so I’ll be okay.” She turned to leave, but Wolf stopped her.

  “Kahllah,” he called after her, “one last question before you go.”

  “What’s
that?”

  “Well, since you said you know about the Black Lotus, I’m sure in your quest for truths you were able to gain some insight on him.”

  “A bit . . .” Kahllah said hesitantly.

  “When he and I spoke at Mrs. Stone’s house, I got the impression that this little murder spree was about more than money. If not for money, what would make an assassin of the Black Lotus’s caliber risk so much for those people to die?”

  Kahllah gave him a half smile. “A mother’s tears. Get well soon, detective,” she said, and slipped from the room.

  Epilogue

  Two weeks later

  For the first time in weeks the weather had warmed up. It was a nice Saturday afternoon in the neighborhood. Kids were out playing, while adults came and went, handling this and that. Mrs. Gooden pushed her shopping cart of groceries, with her nose buried between the pages of a small Bible.

  “Afternoon, Mrs. Gooden,” a voice startled her from her reading.

  She looked up and was surprised to see Detective Wolf standing there in front of her. He had traded in his sweat suit and gold chain for a blazer and tie. “Oh, I didn’t see you.”

  “I’ve been learning to walk kind of light these days,” he joked. For the most part he had recovered from his wounds, but his side still gave him some pain, causing him to limp a bit.

  “I heard what happened to you and I’m sorry,” Mrs. Gooden said.

  “It’s just a hazard of the job, I’ll be fine.”

  “Where are you off to all decked out?” she asked.