Dark Luck (A Suspense Thriller)

by Tim Kizer

  “Yes, Sir, your boat,” Zack said into the receiver.

  “Sorry, I’m not interested. Bye-bye.” Stevenson hung up. A moment later, Zack hung up, too.

  “Great job, buddy,” Jeremy said. “We’re going ahead of schedule.”

  8.

  As Zack was getting ready to leave for Boston, Jeremy came up with a fun idea: he suggested that Zack steal a car. After he had killed its owner, of course.

  “How about taking a bus? I have the money for a ticket,” Zack said.

  “Oh my God, you’re missing the point, man. Bus is so boring. Don’t you want to have some fun? Don’t you want to go on an adventure?”

  “Uh, okay.”

  “Can you drive, by the way?”

  “Sure.”

  “But you don’t have a license yet, do you?”

  “Fuck the license. I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do.”

  “I’m just kidding, Zack. Rules are meant to be broken. But before we get going, we need to buy you a hoodie and a pair of driving gloves. They will turn out very handy pretty soon, I assure you.”

  Choosing the victim turned out easier than Zack had thought. As he sought to minimize the resistance he was going to meet, he decided to find a female under twenty five who was not chubby. Jeremy advised him against picking a cute faced girl.

  “I don’t want this to become national news. It’s just too much pain in the ass,” he explained. “So no hot blondes for you today, buddy.”

  What was the best place to find a fairly helpless young woman with a car? In Zack’s opinion, nothing could beat a mall parking structure, of which there were a few within a five mile radius from Aunt Clarisse’s house. Of course, he could try to carjack a car parked in some dark alley, but he considered it a bit too risky.

  After selecting the location, Zack determined the time: he decided to start the hunt around ten in the morning, when most men were at work and thus could not come to the rescue of the poor broad that was going to be his target. Zack asked himself if he should rape the girl, too—after all, he was still a virgin and wouldn’t mind getting some pussy—and eventually elected not to do it, striving to stay focused on the task at hand.

  Once Zack came to the shopping mall, he checked if there were surveillance cameras in the parking structure. Just as he had hoped, the mall managers were cheap enough to have left the parking areas without video monitoring. Then Zack assumed an inconspicuous position on the first floor of the structure, about a hundred feet from the entrance and began the wait. Luckily, it was only half an hour before the chick that matched the profile walked in to get her car.

  “Let’s keep it clean, man,” Jeremy said. “We’re not spilling blood this time. Strangle her. It’s not that difficult, I know you can do it.”

  For a few seconds Zack debated if he should strangle her from behind or face to face. His choice fell on the latter since he was very curious to see what the woman’s face would look like while he throttled her.

  “Excuse me, Miss, can I ask you a question?” Zack said in a sweet voice as he approached his prey.

  “Sure.” The woman turned to him and smiled. Yeah, being a skinny fifteen-year-old boy had its advantages: no adult usually took you as a threat.

  “I was wondering if they have a Cheesecake Factory here.” By the end of this phrase Zack had the woman pinned down to the driver’s seat, with his hands squeezing her throat tightly. Honestly, he barely remembered how he had found himself in this position; the previous five seconds were a blur to him. The woman’s face quickly turned red as her hands were pushing against Zack’s shoulders. Tightening his grip, Zack could physically feel the life leaving the chick’s body. He also noticed he was having a rock hard erection. Half a minute later, the woman’s eyes began to roll up; soon her irises disappeared under her half-closed eyelids and you could only see the white, which, if you asked Zack, was a revolting image.

  He was still choking the woman when Jeremy said, “She’s dead, buddy. Let’s haul ass.”

  With surprising ease, Zack lifted the woman’s corpse and stuffed it in the trunk. All this adrenaline must have given him additional strength, he thought. He didn’t want to leave the body in the parking structure because the longer it remained undiscovered, the longer the car theft would go unreported. How much time did he need? Around five hours if he drove the speed limit.

  Then Zack put on the driving gloves (Jeremy had warned him against leaving fingerprints inside the car), picked up the car keys from the ground, and quickly surveyed his catch before getting behind the wheel. He was pleased with his new ride: it was a lightly used Toyota Camry, a vehicle that blended into the crowd perfectly.

  “I’m still not sure what the point was of killing that chick,” Zack said, driving out of the parking structure.

  “Are you serious, man? I hope you’re not having second thoughts. Well, what if I told you that a week from now this woman would have run over and killed three young children with her car? Would you be more comfortable with taking her life if you knew this tidbit of information? Would this justify her death?”

  After a short pause, Zack responded, “I guess so.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. You see, Zack, there are people that deserve to be eliminated and it’s your mission to take care of some of them. I'm going to provide you with guidance to make your job easier.”

  “Can you see the future?”

  “It’s quite possible that I can.”

  “This is awesome, man!”

  “But would you be upset if you found out that the whole running over thing was bullshit?”

  “I would wonder why you lied.”

  “Would you regret murdering her?”

  “I would kinda feel weird that I killed her without a reason.”

  “No, no, buddy, there is a reason. It just might be a bit different from the one I gave you, but I suppose that’s okay with you, right?”

  Zack shrugged his shoulders. “Why wouldn’t you just tell me the real reason?”

  “It’s too complex. And somewhat controversial. I prefer not to burden you with it right now. Is that okay?”

  “I guess so.”

  “I’m glad you understand, buddy.”

  9.

  Yes, Zack was an understanding person. For example, he could see why his parents had been so adamant about amputating Jeremy. Wouldn’t you be shocked if the finger removed from your child’s hand over fourteen years earlier began to grow back? And wouldn’t you be eager to have it chopped off again? You sure would.

  Was Zack scared when he discovered that his sixth finger was coming back? Honestly, yes. In fact, he was almost terrified since there was no rational explanation to his condition. But at the same time he was excited and couldn’t wait to see what would happen next. Zack had always known he used to have six fingers on his right hand: when, at the age of five, he had inquired about the small scar between the middle and the ring fingers, his mother had chosen not to sugarcoat reality and told him the truth.

  “And then the doctor snipped it off,” she said and gave him a hug.

  Oddly, even though he was supposed to be happy about his hand being restored to the normal condition, Zack found out that the story of his extra finger had created a strange emptiness in his heart. For some reason, he was a bit upset that his parents had made this decision for him and that it had never occurred to them to ask for his opinion. He had a feeling that he’d missed out on something significant, having lost that finger.

  Once Jeremy got going, it took him about three months to complete the comeback, growing at a rather quick pace of one inch a month. For the first few weeks, the sight of his new finger always made Zack think of bamboo, the fastest growing plant on the Earth, some of whose species could grow up to four feet in one day.

  Zack wanted to name his new finger Sixtus. Why? First, it sounded cool. Second, Pope Sixtus II was the name of the man with six fingers on Raphael’s The Sistine Madonna, one of the most famous paintings depic
ting the Virgin Mary and the Christ Child—famous among the intelligent people, anyway. Zack forgot how he had come to find out about this gorgeous five-hundred-year-old painting, but he did remember why it had impressed him so much: the image of the Pope’s six-fingered right hand (and you most likely wouldn’t notice the extra digit unless you were told to look for it since it was quite subtle) was incredibly fascinating and engrossing and he had been excited to see that someone who had the same deformity as he did had ended up friends with the Mother of Jesus.

  The remarkable thing about the painting was the fact that, as Zack found out later, Sixtus wasn’t actually a polydactyl and that Raphael had added the sixth finger to show that the Pope had possessed a sixth sense awakened by Initiation. As Zack learned about the hidden messages and symbolism in The Sistine Madonna, he began to admire this masterpiece—and Raphael—even more. But we digressed.

  His new buddy already had a name, and it was not Sixtus.

  “Call me Jeremy,” the finger said. “I love this name.”

  Where had Jeremy been all these years? And why had he waited so long before deciding to come back?

  Actually, the right question would be: ‘Was it Jeremy that the surgeon removed from Zack’s right hand fourteen years ago or was it someone—or something—else?’

  It didn’t take Zack’s parents long to notice that the sixth finger had begun growing back. Zack was thinking of finding a way to hide Jeremy from his folks but soon realized that he wouldn’t have been able to come up with a practical solution even if he were as smart as Einstein. Early on, Zack had decided to keep his mouth shut about his new finger being able to talk to him as he realized no one would believe it, so his folks had never found out who his friend Jeremy actually was.

  Having little natural curiosity, his parents decided to abandon their investigation into the reasons for the extra finger’s return after two orthopedic doctors had told them that more research was needed. They spent no time debating whether they should or should not amputate the sixth finger. Once it became clear that they were dealing with just a finger and not an exotic form of cancer or somesuch, his parents started looking for a surgeon who could perform the amputation in the most aesthetically pleasing way. And they were very happy their health insurance covered this type of surgery, so the operation was not going to cost them an arm and a leg.

  10.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Jeremy said after they passed Hartford. “You are embarrassed to take orders from a fucking finger. Am I right? And the whole concept of a talking finger must still seem a little crazy to you. You’re probably afraid that you’re losing your mind.”

  “No, I’m not. Why would I?”

  “But you see, Zack, I only look like a finger. What I really am is too difficult to explain, and I’m not in the mood to waste the precious time on this. Does it make you feel better?”

  “Well... Honestly, it kind of does make me feel better.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. And I know you’re not lying. Did I tell you I can read your thoughts?”

  “No.”

  “Now you know. I think we’re going to get along nicely, buddy.”

  Zack nodded approvingly. “Yeah.”

  “Frankly, I don’t really like making you do stuff. I consider it cheating. I’d much prefer if you wanted to do these things, buddy. People are the most efficient when they act on their own free will.”

  “It’s okay, man. We’re cool.”

  “By the way, is it important for you to be on the side of good? Is it a deal breaker for you, buddy?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s more important to you: to follow the arbitrary rules of morality or to become someone who matters?”

  “I guess I want to matter.”

  “Great!” Jeremy paused. “You see, every story has at least two sides to it. Come to think of it, there’s no right or wrong.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes! Take a look at the court of law, for instance. There are two absolutely opposite points of view on the same crime, on the same situation, and both of them have a chance of being valid, it’s all just a matter of coming up with a better argument. If there were the absolute truth, the pure truth, every Supreme Court vote would be unanimous, which is not the case. Therefore, there’s no right or wrong, buddy. There’s only interpretation, nothing else.”

  “Did the devil send you?”

  “The devil? Oh, of course: if someone goes against the mainstream, they accuse him of being the devil’s spawn. Well, buddy, if you look from this perspective, you can say I was sent by the devil. But I want to let you know that my sender doesn’t have horns on his head or hooves on his feet.”

  11.

  A few miles after they had crossed into Massachusetts, a highway patrol cruiser caught up with Zack’s car, and half a minute later the strobe lights went on, signaling Zack to pull over.

  “Whatever you do, man, don’t get out of the car,” Jeremy said. “And I suppose you realize this guy will have to die.”

  Jeremy was correct. Since Zack had no driver’s license, the cop was going to confiscate the car and it was only a matter of time before the police found the dead body in the trunk. All in all, killing the patrolman was a more sensible option than trying to outrun him.

  “You have to be very quick, Zack. Use the knife. One fast move. And don’t worry: no one is looking, no one gives a shit about the pigs. These jerks harass folks every damn day and it’s about time someone showed them.”

  “Okay.”

  Keeping an eye on the patrolman’s reflection in the side mirror, Zack pulled the knife out of his hoodie pocket and took a deep breath.

  “Can I see your license, registration, and proof of insurance, please?” the cop said in a monotone voice, peering into the window.

  “Sure, Sir.” Zack flashed a sunny smile. “Do you have a family, officer?”

  “Can I see your license, registration, and proof of insurance, please?” No change in the tone whatsoever.

  Zack expected the man, who appeared to be in his forties, to call him ‘son,’ but it didn’t happen.

  “Do you have children?” As he gazed at the patrolman, Zack found himself feeling giddy and proud. He was entering the big leagues now, you know. The person he was about to kill wasn’t a teenage kid or a soft-handed chick; this guy could probably knock him out with one punch. And don’t forget the man had a loaded gun on him.

  Would they mention this murder on the news? How would they describe it?

  Making sure not to stick his hand too far out of the window, Zack presented the registration card, which he had found in the glove compartment earlier while battling boredom. The patrolman reached for the card, and that was when Zack struck.

  With his left hand, Zack grabbed the cop by the wrist and pulled him down towards the window. Caught by surprise, the patrolman didn’t put up much resistance, but even if he had tried to keep from bending forward, Zack would still have been able to force him down, he had no doubt about it. Once the cop’s forehead hit the cant rail, Zack swiftly slit the man’s throat with the knife he was holding in his right hand. Then he pushed the patrolman’s body away from the car so that blood wouldn’t get sprayed or spilled into the window.

  “There’s a dash cam in his car,” Jeremy said. “I’m pretty sure they’ll be able to make out the license plate, so we’ve got to find another ride.”

  “How much time do we have?”

  “Probably an hour. And no, the recorder is locked and it’s going to take too long to open it. Let’s just get moving, baby.”

  “What about his gun? I’d like to have it. We might need a gun someday, you know.”

  “Okay, okay, let’s take it. But first put the hood on your head just in case.”

  Following Jeremy’s instructions, Zack turned the steering wheel all the way to the left and backed up, blocking the dash camera’s view of the cop’s body. Then he got out of the car and, crouching, stepped o
ver to the patrolman.

  “Hurry up, man,” Jeremy said.

  Zack quickly opened the cop’s holster, pulled out the pistol, and hopped back behind the wheel.

  “Go, man, go!”

  12.

  The doctor lived in one of those big modern-looking rectangular houses with huge windows, which must have cost a fortune to heat in the winter. There surely was an architectural term for a residence like Stevenson’s, and Zack thought that he could search for it online once he took care of the business at hand.

  It should be especially upsetting to die when life was so good. Yeah, poor Mister Stevenson would be mighty pissed off as he took his last breath.

  “Now let me tell you why we’re really here,” Jeremy said. “You will kill Doctor Stevenson. You could cut his throat with that nice knife of yours.”

  “I thought he was going to help me with my condition.”

  “I was just messing with you, buddy. You don’t need help, you’re perfectly fine. We’re here because it was Stevenson who chopped the extra finger off your hand fourteen years ago. You obviously forgot his name, but I remembered it.”

  “Yeah, we’ve got to punish him.”

  “Right on, buddy, we have to give him what he deserves. Cut his throat. And don’t forget his wife if she’s there.”

  Zack’s string of good luck continued when he climbed up on the porch and checked if the door was locked, hoping the folks in this upper class neighborhood had gotten less vigilant. The door was unlocked.

  Zack entered the house and drew the patrolman’s gun out of his jeans pocket. He kept the gloves on in order to avoid leaving fingerprints, and his head was covered with the hood. As he crossed the living room, he saw a young boy sleeping on the couch. The kid appeared to be no older than ten or eleven years old and was probably Shep Stevenson’s son. Or nephew—Zack didn’t give a shit who he was. His finger on the trigger, Zack stopped by the stairs and strained his ears, attempting to locate the doctor. He soon heard the sound of a drawer being shut, which came from the second floor.

  His heart throbbing with elation, Zack raced upstairs, quickly scanned the hallway, and headed for the room whose door was half open after spotting a moving shadow inside it. The pleasant sensation Zack was experiencing right now reminded him of the gratification he felt when he had taken a nice dump.