Blood Week

by J. D. Martin

  This whole block was a string of locally-owned locations catering to a wide range of needs. A hair salon, legal counsel center, and a Laundromat were just a few of the stores along the block. These businesses were still making it for now, but they had seen better day. Judging from the abundance of graffiti in the area and buildings boarded up, the neighborhood wasn’t the greatest. However, some of the best of a city’s culture often came from neighborhoods like this.

  A few stray dogs ate from a toppled trashcan by the deli. One looked up from his evening meal as the car passed by, and for an instant his eyes seemed to glow as they reflected the light from the street lamps.

  The vehicle slowed, turning into an alley that ran between the Java-Break and the Laundromat. It ended at the rear of the building where it opened to a row of yellow lines for employee parking. Brake lights bathed the walls of the empty lot in red as the car came to a stop in one of the many unoccupied spots. Some fresh graffiti decorated the wall in front of the vehicle.

  In large letters, the wall read “12th Street Ryders”; a small gang of primarily Mexican descent with territory spanning five blocks of town. Rumors had surfaced that the Ryders started some old-school notions of forcing shop owners to pay protection money, but so far, the rumors hadn’t been confirmed.

  The sedan’s door opened and a man in a dark hoodie, blue jeans, and black boots exited. With the hood pulled over his head, his face remained hidden by the accompanying shadow. Reaching under the seat, he found a small cardboard box that he’d hidden beneath it. Inside were disposable gloves that squeaked together as he pulled out a fresh pair.

  After sliding the gloves over his hands, he closed the door and walked to the rear of the car. He inserted his key into the lock of the trunk and eased it to the right until it clicked. The latch released the lid and it popped up a few inches. Removing the key and placing it in his pocket, he lifted the lid open to find his guest still unconscious inside. “Right where I left you.”

  In the rear of the trunk was a black pack that he pulled out and slipped onto his back. Taking a quick look around to ensure he was alone, he lifted Justin out and tossed him over his shoulder before closing the lid. Across the lot, he spotted the black cast-iron ladder that led to the roof.

  At the bottom of the ladder, he dropped the dead weight to the pavement. Justin moaned as his limp body came to rest on the sidewalk with a thud. His captor reached into the bag and pulled out one end of a very long rope that he tied around Justin cinching it tight beneath his arms.

  He left Justin lying there while he climbed to the roof where he rigged up a pulley and brought sleeping beauty up to join him. At the top, the unknown figure began preparing the rest of his venture.

  Removing the pack from his shoulders, he dropped it to the hard surface of the roof and knelt over it. Unzipped, he retrieved a roll of duct tape that he then carried over to his friend. Binding his hands and feet together, he finished with a strip over Justin’s mouth. This meant it was time for the fun part.

  Returning the roll of tape, the man pulled out a small white package that he bent in his fingers causing it to crack. He waved the smelling salts beneath Justin’s nose until he awoke with a shake.

  “It’s about time you wake up. You slept all the way here.” Justin slowly came to recall what had happened that night. He realized he was laying bound before his kidnapper and he struggled to escape the bindings, but it was fruitless.

  “You are wasting your time with that. But don’t worry, I brought you here for a reason. What do you say we have some fun tonight?” He freed the rope that had still been secured under Justin’s arms and carried it to the opposite side of the roof.

  He began fastening it to the opposite side in a series of knots. “You know, I’ve heard things about the girls you choose to socialize with.” Tightening the final knot onto a metal rail, he turned and continued, “I couldn’t help but wonder why you left out so many details about your supposed conquests when you bragged about them.”

  Returning to Justin’s side, he leaned down to him. “Would it shock you to hear that I know exactly how you get these girls?”

  He grabbed Justin by the throat, his voice coming through grit teeth while the captive choked behind the duct tape over his mouth. “Tonight, you learn what you put them through.”

  Releasing him, the man stood and dragged Justin by his ankle across the roof to the front of the building. Propping him up, he tore open the man’s shirt before digging through his pack again. Coming back with something small clutched in his hand, he spoke to his captive audience.

  “So how about I tell you a little about myself and then we’ll come back to you?” After a brief pause, he continued, “I made a decision many years ago to start an entrepreneurship of sorts. The only problem was it took a very long time to train for the position. It’s not like most careers where you can be up and running in a few weeks. Not to mention the fact that this business carried with it an abnormal amount of risk.”

  He chuckled to himself before beginning again. “You know it’s funny that I speak of the risk since I do my best to avoid it. I plan everything to perfection to make sure I can do my work without interruption.”

  “You see, Justin, I can’t stand the filth that has overridden this city. Even worse is that not a single soul was doing anything about it.” Light reflected off the item in his hand as he continued, “Well no one until me. If we want a better world we need to reach out and seize it. Don’t you agree?”

  He paused and stared into the night sky before closing his eyes, tilting his head back, and inhaling deeply. The night was crisp with just a hint of dew on the air. Finally, a cool breeze was beginning to take the edge off the heat.

  Adrenaline pulsed through the man’s body like the injection of a drug. His breath quickened and there was a tingling to his skin. He smiled slowly and looked down at Justin. The light from a nearby streetlamp glistened across his face and Justin began to squirm against the tape with more effort.

  “Well, I needn’t keep you in suspense. That would be rude of me. I’m here to put things right for those that can’t. The police seem to have an inability to do anything about the laws you break, and that ends here.”

  “You see, the same laws protecting your victims also protect your freedom.” Kneeling close to Justin, the man pulled out what had been shimmering in the light and showed it to his prey.

  The mere sight of it made Justin flush with fear. He attempted to turn away from it, but his binds and the wall behind him kept Justin close.

  “You see this?” The man rotated the thin metal that sparkled in the moonlight. “This is a number ten scalpel with a palmar grip. It’s like my paint brush where as you are my canvas. You should be proud,” he said, running the metal lightly across Justin’s exposed stomach. “Once I display you across the front of this coffee shop, you’ll live in infamy.”

  Justin whimpered as tears fell along his cheeks. “I’m honored that my art moves you so, but I don’t want to keep my fans waiting. What do you say we get started with the first stroke?”

  Justin’s fear finally received its realization as the blade sliced into his chest. He tried to scream, but the duct tape across his mouth allowed only muffled grunts. The skin burned where the sharp steel separated it into pieces. The skin parted like an invisible zipper had been holding it together. The movement was effortless, and the skin separated with the ease of butter.

  “Don’t worry. I promise that it will all be over soon. Once I sign my work, I will let you down from this rooftop. You understand, I have to make sure credit is received for all this trouble I’m going through,” he stated calmly.

  After a few more seconds, the artist leaned back to inspect his handiwork. “Looks great! You should see yourself right now; quite the masterpiece Justin. Now to keep my promise, it’s all over.”

  Grabbing the rope he’d tied to the front of the coffee shop, he wrapped it back around Justin. Once it was secure, he lifted Justin up to th
e edge of the roof and leaned in close to Justin’s ear. Choosing his words carefully, he lost the calm demeanor that he’d been carrying and spoke with quiet rage.

  “You have made many mistakes throughout your time in this world Justin. With all your chances to turn everything around, you continue to inflict pain on others. That ends tonight.”

  With a flick of the wrist, his blade sliced deep into Justin’s neck. With a large grin, he rolled the man over the ledge and shouted, “Look out below!” Justin fell to the length of the rope, and his body jerked hard at the end. Swinging like a human pendulum, blood splashed onto the pavement.

  “Qui tacet consentire videtur. Blood Week has begun.”

  Chapter 3

  I watched as the car pulled up to the intersection. The setting sun reflected off the blue paint causing flecks of silver to sparkle like stars in the night sky. The man driving leaned over to the woman with him and kissed her on the cheek. As he pulled away, an arm came in through the window and pressed a cold barrel to his temple. I wanted to scream for help, but before the words could come out, I felt the pistol on my skin.

  Death’s goodnight kiss was puckered and ready to bid me farewell. I felt the cold leather of the steering wheel between my fingers. Before I could save myself, the trigger pulled and released the firing pin into that ignited the metal tube in a flash of light. Instantly, I was back on the sidewalk watching the struggle as a loud bang was followed by the interior of the windshield splashing red.

  Time inched by as it appeared to stop in that moment. Everything froze for that instant before death. The slug shrieked in the night as it bored into flesh and bone. The geyser that was his life sprayed out like a fire hose as the force of the bullet snapped his head to the side and caused the man’s dying body to fall into the passenger’s lap.

  Again, I tried to stop what was happening. The man was lost, but I could still save her. I ran towards the vehicle, my chest heaving with the effort, but I didn’t get any closer. From across the street, I could feel the life draining out as the blood spilled onto the floorboards. The woman was screaming as the gun turned on her. I ran harder as my vision began to blur from the strain. Reaching out as if my fingers could somehow stop all that was happening, the gun rang out for the second time as I shot up from the sheets screaming.

  The buzz of the alarm filled the dark bedroom with the sharpness that I always woke up to. The bedsheets were damp with sweat and tangled in knots around my legs. I reached out and smacked the snooze button before falling back onto the warm pillows. Normally it would be nice to fall back to sleep for a few minutes before rolling out of bed, but I didn’t want to risk returning to the nightmare.

  As I lay there, a bright light pierced through the darkness like a knife. The warm beam came shimmering through a crack in the drapes and scraped at my exposed pupils. I squinted and raised my hand as if to bat the light away. The unwelcome sun ushered in a new dawn that I wasn’t ready to greet. On normal occasions I would call myself a morning person, but I hadn’t been sleeping well with the anniversary coming up.

  It had been almost two weeks since I’d had a good night’s sleep. Like so many other things, there was a cure for situations like this; I needed a cup of coffee.

  After rolling out of bed, I made my way to the kitchen where the coffee maker lived. The pre-programmed timer was just about finished making me a fresh cup to cure my morning woes. I’d always found the single-cup coffee makers more convenient since nobody ever drank an entire pot alone before it went bad. In an age of instant gratification, I felt impatient as I waited for the dark brew to finish. Rubbing my face, I breathed in that earthy aroma that permeated through the apartment.

  Opening the fridge, I grabbed the bottle of creamer and pulled the sugar from the cupboard. I heard a ding that told me my cup was done. After adding a shot of creamer and two sugar cubes, I walked out on the balcony to start my daily routine.

  Viewing the cityscape was a longstanding morning ritual with my coffee. My loft apartment was on the fifth floor of the Walnut building, which offered a terrific view of downtown. Normally I’d prefer to be a little higher, but the balconies were all on the fifth floor and I liked the location. So, this is where I stayed.

  I could’ve gone anywhere with my inheritance like New York or Los Angeles, but Kansas City had a special place in my heart. It was where I’d spent my entire life, and I couldn’t see myself ever choosing to leave. Sure, it didn’t have the sleekness of Manhattan or the consistent weather of L.A., but it’s a place all its own.

  With the jazz clubs of 18th & Vine, the delicious staple known as Kansas City BBQ, or the gorgeous view that changed dramatically through the seasons; this place was my home. Being such a wonderful place to live was only the start. To leave would also mean leaving them behind.

  Like me, my parents spent the majority of their lives in this city. They met in college and, at first, they couldn’t stand each other. One of their first conversations ended with my father getting slapped. Mom said he fancied himself a ladies’ man but he didn’t actually know how to speak to a woman. It often led to him getting into situations like their first encounter. However, seeing as they had mutual friends, they were forced to spend time together.

  Eventually, their time together began to melt the iceberg between them. A fondness grew that eventually led to dating, marriage, and a son. I couldn’t imagine two people more in love than my parents, which neither of them saw coming after that initial introduction. They both had very lucrative professions, but still found the time for family. My mother was a physician at a large hospital and my father had his own law firm. It provided a comfortable life that wasn’t meant to last.

  My trust fund was released to me on my 21st birthday, allowing me to continue living that comfortable life. That money purchased my condo and gave me the view that accompanied my morning coffee. There were more lavish places I could’ve lived in, but something about the Walnut building spoke to me. It kept me in the heart of downtown while also whispering of a bygone era. It was a place that fit me.

  Out on the horizon, the sun continued inching out its own bed, painting the sky orange and yellow. I could feel the warmth from the light as it reached my perch. As it crept higher, all the morning colors would fade, which is why I took the time each morning to appreciate it. Even if it was only for a brief moment, it was peaceful.

  Finishing the last of my coffee, I stepped back inside and placed the cup in the sink before heading for the shower. I had an appointment before work, so I needed to get the day started.

  Thirty minutes later, I wore a towel around my waist staring into a large walk-in closet. I tried to decide on a wardrobe from the options before me. A wide arrangement of suits, shoes, and accessories were lined up for my selection. After some contemplating, my choice fell upon a three-piece charcoal fabric with thin pinstripes.

  Adding in a burgundy button up and a silk neck tie of red, black and silver gave me a good start. I finished with a steel watch with brown band, and a matching belt and shoes.

  After removing the selected garments from the closet, I tossed the towel aside to get dressed. Donning the fashion of the day, I left the jacket lying on the bed and walked to the wall opposite the walk-in. I couldn’t complete the ensemble without two very important elements that accompany every outfit I wear.

  On the wall was a four-foot impressionist’s interpretation of a couple walking along a lake in mid-autumn. The use of red, yellow, blue, and purple on the surrounding trees was a constant conversation piece. I could’ve gone with the good old dogs playing poker, but this painting preached of a better time.

  Swinging the painting open on the hinges hidden behind it revealed a one-foot square safe. Pressing my thumb to the dark glass plate at the center scanned my print and caused clunk as the bolt released. Inside was a set of leather hoops that I slipped over each arm.

  After fastening the buckles to my belt, I slipped my thumbs up the front to smooth it. Next, I pulled out a
steel magazine with fifteen .40 S&W hollow points and a Glock 22 hand gun. I slid the ammunition into the weapon, chambered a round and ensured the safety was on before placing it in the holster secured to my left side by the shoulder straps. This kept the weapon readily available while also hiding it under my suit jacket when I wore it.

  The last item I pulled from the safe was a golden shield emblazoned with KCPD attached to a black leather clip. Securing my badge to the right side of my belt, I closed the safe and restored the painting to its original position.

  Stepping into the bathroom, I inspected myself to make sure everything was in its place. My skin contrasted to my dark brown hair that gave a mixture of bed head and sophistication. It spiked a bit in the center but was meticulously styled so. My clean-shaven face emphasized my square jaw. When I had tried out a beard, a woman had described me as a lumberjack. It was funny at the time, but I preferred to be clean cut.

  Satisfied, I grabbed my wallet and cell phone from the nightstand and placed them in my pockets before picking up my jacket and exiting the bedroom. Checking my watch, I left the apartment with plenty of time to make it to my appointment.

  Chapter 4

  A twenty-minute drive took me to Elmwood Cemetery where I stood in front of a pair of headstones. The burial grounds were one of the older cemeteries of the city. Located on Truman Road, it had been in use since the mid 1800’s. After serving the city for so long, it had eventually made its mark by being listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

  On the grounds were a collection of stone structures that decorated entrances to mausoleums as well as the Armour Chapel that was being restored on the 43 acres of land. I’d donated to their cause last year in an effort to keep the grounds clean for my parents to have the best resting place possible. The two stone slabs jutting from the earth carved with the names Douglas and Erica gave me a vested interest in the facility.