“I’m El Muerto. Would you rather I had let them kill you both. That is what they had planned.”
“Are you some kind of racist?”
“You and your daughter are black. How did I get to be racist by saving an African American woman and her daughter?”
“You killed nine black youths!”
“Oh lady… we have a much different definition of black youth.”
“How do you know they didn’t want to simply rob us? I’m a social worker. Most of these kids are from broken homes. They strive each day just to survive.”
“They’re vultures, feeding off the bleached bones of a city so screwed up, no one on earth could ever fix it without the National Guard and martial law. Anyway, I’ll make sure you get home safely. I’ve had the bunch, trying to get you, under observation. I bugged their hangout. They’ve been watching you. They know you’re a social worker. They watched your place. You’ve journeyed out to the store at night before when your husband works late. Tonight was their night.”
“I don’t believe you. They didn’t deserve to be gunned down by some damned thought-police murderer. I think at worst they would have robbed us. That doesn’t deserve the death penalty.”
“I don’t really care what you think. I don’t let children get butchered because they have idiot parents. If you think they got a bad deal, show up tomorrow on the street corner. Their wailing relatives will light candles, place Pooky the teddy bear they had when they were three by a lamppost, tie ribbons everywhere, and pretend they cared whether the murderous scum lived or died. I don’t. I’ll be watching. El Muerto… away!”
The man in black seemed to disappear into the darkness.
“That man was right, Mom. Those guys try and get us every time we leave home,” Deirdre said. “I want to go home. I like El Muerto!”
“Deirdre! How can you say such a thing?” Amelia realized she was in the middle of a murderous crime scene. “We’ll talk about this at home. You’ll probably need therapy until you’re thirty.”
“No, I don’t! Bad guys tried to hurt us. El Muerto stopped them. It…it’s the first time I’ve seen anyone do anything!”
“Oh God…” Amelia took her daughter’s hand, walking around the block, feeling safe for the first time walking around the block in the dark.
* * *
Nick laughed from the building he had scaled by fire escape, set for his endeavor in advance. He had bugged everything, slipping the tiny chips in purses, schoolbags, and everywhere he imagined to hear something of interest in their apartment. He called Paul, who answered on the first ring.
“Nick?”
The hesitant fear he heard in Paul’s voice put Nick into a more somber mood. “Relax - your family lives, in spite of Ameilia’s anti-survival position. I bugged everyone in the sphere of any knowledge concerning her job, belief system, or stupidity of decisions. She’s a liberal idiot! Of that, there can be no doubt. I can protect our assets in the Sand better than your suicidal Amelia. It’s incredible listening to a lecture from someone I just saved, calling me a murderer and executioner.”
“Uh… that’s what you are, Muerto.”
“Well… sure… that doesn’t mean I should get called names.” Nick waited until Gilbrech stopped enjoying his retort. “I’m working it, but you better believe the guys I iced tonight ain’t going away. By tomorrow afternoon, they will be saints. They fought against poverty. They fathered children, all out of wedlock or responsibility, but I’m sure the Mom’s will show for the newsreel with real tears and babes in arms. The dead assholes’ Moms will be claiming they were supporting their families and planning on college.”
“How many, Nick?”
Nick smiled, nearly feeling the CIA Director cringe as he asked. “Uh… nine… but they were all bad.”
“Oh my Lord in heaven! Nine?! Really?!”
Nick played his bugged conversational tape, featuring his victims sharing what they planned to do to Paul’s stepdaughter and step-grandchild. “There are more names on your list, pal. That group with three entries came into play tonight. If you’re getting cold feet, say so now, compadre. I hate this place. Shadowing these gangbanger assholes without a conscience is worse than Kabul.”
“Sorry, Nick… I lost focus for a moment. I didn’t send you in there to win hearts and minds. They’ve proven that’s an impossibility with the rising body-count every year. Give me the truth, Muerto. Can you save Amelia and family?”
Nick’s mouth tightened, remembering the little girl’s wide brown eyes, waving at him. “I don’t know how stupid Amelia actually is. I’m going to save Deirdre even if I have to erase every gangbanger in this area from existence. She reminds me of Jean on our initial flight from Frank Richert and the Tanus export business mafia. Deirdre didn’t care about the bad guys I killed. For that realization, I’ll save her life through to the point they’ll be trying to target me from orbit.”
“She’s my favorite of all children I’ve ever met or been in contact with,” Paul confessed with steely resolve. “Save her, Nick. Salt the earth if you must. Deirdre’s the only reason I asked you in on this. I can’t stand either Amelia or her husband. The liberal freaks embrace that murder haven with open arms. Deirdre calls me grandpa.”
Nick leaned into the cement escarpment with snow beginning to fall. “I hear you, brother. When we psychopaths hear terms of endearment, sometimes our shields don’t hold. Buckle up, my friend… it’s going to be a bumpy ride.”
“Understood. I’ll get you out of this, no matter what.”
Nick snorted. “Don’t make promises we both know you can’t keep. Talk at you later. I have a meeting to attend.”
“Do I want to know what kind of meeting you’re attending?”
“Uh… no.”
“Nick!”
Only a split second from disconnecting, Nick grinned, trying to surmise why CIA Director Paul Gilbrech stopped him from ending the call. “I’m here.”
“You aren’t dressing up as a cartoon for this, are you?”
Silence until Paul sighed audibly. “Talk to you later, Nick.”
“El Muerto… away!” Nick disconnected. He looked around from his rooftop perspective, watching the snowfall whirl around in the frigid Chicago cold. Time to take a couple more names off the list while the iron is hot on a cold night.
Chapter Four
More Windy City Adjustments
“Ramone’s dead… and… and… all of them!” Paco Torres shouted out, his gloved hands waving in confusion, angst, worry, and for the first time in a long while: fear.
The other six stirred from their spots in front of the huge big screen TV to turn or stand upon hearing the news, depending on their proclivity of the night for drugs or alcohol. One of the mean faced crew jutted into Paco’s face, his finger jabbing into Torres’s chest.
“What the hell you talkin’ about, Paco? Ramone on a mission down to the store to pluck that ripe bitch, social worker, and her daughter. We havin’ fun tonight!”
A plethora of agreement accompanied the remark enthusiastically. Paco shook his head violently. “No man! I ain’t trippin’, brother! They dead! All of them! Cops and ambulances there but the crew gettin’ zipped in bags all the way! I’m fucked… I… I need a drink!”
Paco walked by his stunned compatriots to grab a whiskey bottle off the table. He drank deeply, his eyes watering from the sting. He spotted the black clad figure quietly entering the room first. He dropped the bottle to shatter on the floor. He knelt as the others faced their new arrival, holding a squat rifle type firearm with a silencer.
“Hello, boys… say hello to my little friend.”
Bursts, in short deadly muffled mayhem, stitched each one of the gangbangers. They never had a chance to run or defend. They only had time to die. The man in black surveyed the premises with distaste before moving from one body to another, making certain they were dead. The man slung his weapon back under the coat he wore with a flourish.
“Th
at’s how it’s done, kids. You all picked a bad target, boys.” The man took a deep breath before spreading his arms. “El Muerto… away! Damn… I wish Johnny and Cala were here to see this. Gus would just insult us though. Damn… I think I got my psycho soul back on line tonight.”
A scream shattered the man’s reverie. He cursed, spinning with lightning fast draw of his handgun, pointing at his prey while crouching to a knee in shooter’s position.
* * *
Oh crap… you boot-camp idiot. Nick ran at the partially clothed woman, seeing right away she wasn’t armed. Having done extensive recon on this abode, Nick grabbed the woman and guided her into an adjacent room. “Easy, lady. How the hell did you get here? I was certain the house was clear of visitors.”
The young Asian woman clutched herself. “They took me near here.”
She pointed at the corpse nearest Torres. “That one was going to rape me. They were waiting for a gangbanger named Ramone. He knows where I live. Trey told me he’d kill my family if I talked. They own us! They kill anyone they want! Rapes do not get reported because everyone knows they will kill family or anyone getting in their way.”
“Not any more, kid. Go get dressed. I’ll make sure you get home. Dress warm. It’s colder than the Chicago’s mayor’s heart, the useless prick.”
She paused before entering the bedroom. “Who…who are you?”
“I am El Muerto.”
“The Dead One?” The woman became visibly excited, grabbing Nick’s arm in both her hands. “My brother reads comic books with a vigilante named El Muerto!”
“I’m a little like him in appearance. He doesn’t kill. I do.”
“I am Leia. May I tell my brother about you?”
Oh sure. What could possibly go wrong with fifteen dead bodies, all killed by a masked vigilante. Nick shook his head. “It may be a bad idea to tell anyone about me for now, Leia. I have a bit more work to do in the neighborhood.”
“I understand. Be careful of Meya Atwar, the Alderwoman in the district. She protects the gangs. They keep her elected time after time. The police are not allowed to do their jobs here. Atwar plans to run for Congresswoman next. A social worker who lives nearby opposed Atwar’s reelection last November. The gang harasses her now at will.” Leia looked around the bloody room. “I mean… they did. Watch out for Atwar, Muerto.”
“I know about Atwar, Leia. Should I get you a cab to the hospital first before you go home?”
“No… they only messed with me while waiting for Ramone. He is very dangerous.”
“Not anymore. Go clean up and get dressed.”
Leia smiled. “I understand. You killed Ramone too. I will get my family to remain silent too. It is good you have come to Chicago, Muerto. I wish you could clean the whole city, but they will kill you if you stay.”
“It will be rough in the next few days. They’ll be blaming this on any strawman they can think of. Hurry, now. We need to get out of here. The police have already been at my other scene. They will be coming here next, but probably not until morning. Wear your hood and scarf to hide your face when we leave. I’ll confiscate something from the crew here.”
* * *
Outside Leia’s home she hugged Nick. “Thank you. I pray you don’t get caught, Muerto.”
“That makes two of us, kid.” Nick comically threw his arm around his face, gesturing with the other hand. “El Muerto… away!”
* * *
Nick watched the news for the next two days, smiling at the small memorials with families and friends of the dead gangbangers. The news reporters studiously reported every wail of mourning about the suddenly saint like dead gangbangers, but avoided the people on the street of all colors and races. After recording a few voices from the street celebrating the deaths as a Godsend and a good start, the fake news agenda switched to only relatives.
Alderwoman Atwar cried for justice, demanding the police find who killed the poor neighborhood boys, calling it a racist conspiracy. Then the ‘poor neighborhood boys’ police records went public. Victims of their raping, pillaging, and murderous behavior filtered out in public too when it became known a vigilante killed them all. The police admitted all the slugs from both crime scenes originated from the same weapon, suspected to be a 9mm MP5. Nick purposely made sure of only one weapon because he didn’t want anyone being blamed for his project. The people in the district began speaking out concerning the terror tactics used to elect Atwar as Nick hoped would happen. The wave of public opinion nearly washed Atwar away, until a new band of enforcers began making the rounds in the neighborhood late at night.
* * *
Amelia Burkhart answered the door, but didn’t open it. After peeking through her spyhole in the door and seeing three hooded figures, she stood to the side, knowing the only people with weapons in Chicago’s public sector were criminals. Amelia motioned Deirdre not to approach the door. “It’s late. What do you want?”
“We here to intro ourselves, bitch! It be best if you keep yo’ big mouth shut about neighborhood business. We fillin’ in now for our dead brothers. The ‘Black Souls’ is back. You hear, sista’?”
“I hear you. Please… just go away.”
“Remember yo’ place! Social all you want, pattin’ heads and butts. Do anything else… we be back to settle debts!”
Amelia peeked again through the spyhole. She saw them walking down the apartment house steps. Deirdre waited for Amelia to explain. Deirdre heard what the voice warned. Amelia hugged her.
“We should do what Grandpa wants us to do. The gang’s back and it’s only been a few days! Call Muerto or let’s move. I’m afraid they’ll kill Dad when he comes home.”
“He works graveyard shift, Honey. He’s safe coming home at those hours. I’m more worried about getting you to school and back. We’re lucky my appointments allow me to work my own hours. Your Father and I have discussed this. We can’t run like your Grandpa suggests. We have responsibilities and good jobs.”
“Jobs don’t mean anything if we’re dead! Can’t Muerto help us again?”
“I don’t want that murderer doing anything for us. He’s caused a firestorm in the district. Now, we have new gang members to worry about.”
Deirdre turned away. “I hope Muerto kills them too!”
“Dee!”
* * *
“We scared the shit out of that bitch. Atwar won’t have to worry about Burkhart sayin’ anything to the news people. We’ll visit the store next and make sure old man Zhoe knows to keep the payoffs in order.”
The three men slid into the black Audi with the talker driving. “Business be back to normal soon. I like this neighborhood. Easy pickins’.”
The incendiary bomb, triggered by a cell-phone, made the inside of the Audi into a fiery tomb of agonizing death screams.
* * *
Nick put away the cell-phone trigger, watching the expert job he did to position the bomb. It burned so hot after the initial explosion, the incendiary robbed the vehicle’s inside interior of oxygen and died out, along with the crispy critters inside. He whistled Amazing Grace all the way to his own car.
* * *
Alderwoman Atwar surveyed her close advisors with contempt and balled fists. “What in hell is going on here. A car bomb? Really? Now, the store owners paying protection are revealing to the police the ‘Black Souls’ ran the racket. The police chief is taking so much heat, he’s assigned a special unit to canvas my damn district! What have you found out so far, Chet?”
“We don’t know anything yet. The cops think it’s a gang war. We all know it’s not, but we can’t say shit to the cops,” Chet replied. “My advice… lie low for a while. You were just reelected. We have time to fix public perception.”
“I have expenses! What the hell does lie low mean? I can’t live without those payments. My Congressional seat will require campaign funds, gentlemen. We need to import some pros who can get this situation resolved and collect my damn money. What do you know, Chet? Don’t gi
ve me your shit about the cops don’t know this or that. What have you heard?”
“What I’ve heard is why we can’t get good help in here. Rumor on the street claims the man in the black mask is El Muerto.”
Atwar’s mouth moved but nothing came out.
Chet smiled. “I see you’re familiar with El Muerto and the Unholy Trio. I know you’re familiar with what Muerto did to that serial killer on an overseas order. I also know you’re aware of the method used. No pro wants anything to do with Muerto.”
“Shit! That guy’s a monster! Who the hell would hire him to take my district apart?”
“I only-”
The door slammed open. A grizzled looking black man in suit and tie barged in ahead of a dozen police officers. “I’m DA Lancaster, from the State Attorney General’s Office. Alderwoman Atwar… you are under arrest for extortion, money-laundering, violations of the voting rights act, running the ‘Black Souls’ gang, and all crimes relating to them, going back to the first contact with their criminal activities.”
“You can’t do this to me! I own this district! You answer to me!” Two burly police women corralled Atwar. “Get your hands off me!”
The black woman officer with sergeant’s stripes pointed a finger in Atwar’s face. “My advice is to be peaceful, keep quiet, and cooperate. You can get your lawyer at the station. If you resist, I will put you down hard.”
She read Atwar her rights while the other woman officer handcuffed the Alderwoman. “Do you understand these rights, Ms. Atwar?”
“That’s Alderwoman Atwar to you!”
“Not anymore,” the sergeant told her.
Chet and his two men tried to retreat away from the arrest but Lancaster motioned them to stand still. “You three are under arrest, to be charged with aiding and abetting all of what Alderwoman Atwar did. You’ll have your rights read to you now. Downtown, we’ll see what kind of a deal we can work to make sure justice gets done.”
“Don’t you say shit, Chet!”
“It seems it’s either deal with the cops or deal with Muerto, Meya.” Chet put his hands behind his back to be cuffed. “I’ll deal with the police. What tipped you off, Lancaster, if I might ask?”
Hell on Earth Page 8
