by Luis Samways
‘Help me turn him onto his back,’ she says
The two girls struggle some more for a few moments and then succeed. They are met with a grim image as she sees the extent of his wounds. A few hundred holes adorned his face and neck. The Machete Man’s eyes are still open but show no signs of life. Roxanne grips her shank one more time and slits his throat, just to make sure.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ she says while trying to catch her breath.
Thirty Four
‘On three…One…Two…Three,’ says Frank as he hits the enforcer into the depot door. It crashes open and flies off its hinges. Frank is the first through.
The rest follow as they trample through the wooden splinter and shards of glass on the floor. The commotion is overwhelming as Frank hears the sound of tear gas and smoke popping through the building. The other teams have made their strategic entrances. He can hear the officers apprehend some people. No gun shots yet. Just smoke. Frank tries to make his way through the thick bellowing cloud of dust and smoke. He can hear his men behind him. The radio chatter is going off the hook. He can hear multiple calls of hostiles spotted followed by the call sign of them being apprehended. Finally, Frank reaches the depot’s center and is met by a shocking sight. Only two men are handcuffed. He takes his gasmask off and tries to catch some fresh air. He sees the mayor standing next to the two apprehended men. He goes over to the Mayor.
‘Mr Mayor….What are you doing here?’
‘It’s about time you assholes showed up. I’ve been here for nearly thirty minutes. Me and Humphries put these two pricks in cuffs as soon as we got here. There was no need to blow the damn place apart. The doorbell works just fine!’
Frank looks on in confusion. He sees the officers with the same expression on their faces.
‘What do you mean sir; I don’t understand….What’s going on here?’
‘Humphries rang me and told me he found the guy who kidnaped my daughter…’
‘Your daughter was kidnapped? Why the hell didn’t you contact the police?’
‘I was going to but Humphries wanted to deal with it. We were just about to sort something out and you guys came crashing through here.’
‘We came here because we suspect one of our own officers is being kept here against his will’
‘Your right…The same guy who kidnapped my daughter also had your officer tortured. He’s fine though…A few burns to his legs and a couple of fractured ribs. He’ll live.’
Frank cannot believe what he his hearing.
‘Where is Detective Mullins?’
‘In the basement…A few of your men went down there with Humphries to retrieve him.’
Frank’s radio goes off.
‘We’ve found Mullins. He’s a bit banged up, but he’ll live. EMT’s say he’s not critical but will obviously be taken to hospital…Over’
Frank looks around the chaotic depot and sees the two cuffed men lying on their fronts.
‘What about those two,’ he says while pointing at the two men.
‘Oh, those are the guys who held Mullins as a hostage. They were also involved with the kidnapping of my daughter and the other girls’
Frank’s eyes light up.
‘The other girls?’
Suddenly Humphries touches Frank on the shoulder.
‘Yes, let me explain,’ the soft talking business man says.
Humphries goes onto explain the mystery of the missing girls that turned up in Christmas boxes all over Boston in the past twenty four hours and how he had saved them from people traffickers to employ them in his cleaning business.
‘So Antonio went behind your back and sold these girls to some nut job?’
‘Yes exactly. I wanted to give these girls a shot at life in America. I already had their work visas ready and was renting out my eastside apartment building for them. They were going to become a vital part of my business and a major part of my heart. It has always been a dream of mine to employ people in desperate situations. I succeeded until my closest associate decided that it wasn’t in the company’s best interest and we would lose too much money. What he didn’t know was that the Mayor had loved the idea behind it and would publicly endorse a charitable cause to get more homeless employed and housed. He was willing to help with the costs and thought the public would love the idea behind it.’
Frank found the excuses and facts that both the Mayor and Humphries were giving hard to swallow, but it seemed plausible enough. He was more interested in finding the rest of the girls.
‘Did Antonio give up the location of the killer and the missing girls?’
‘Yeah, it’s down the road in one of my old warehouses. It’s only a five minute walk.’
‘What about Antonio? Where the hell is he?’
Humphries smiles.
‘I have no idea…Maybe he will show up one day…’
Frank laughs.
‘I doubt it…Well we better pay this warehouse a little visit,’ says Frank as he signals his men into formation.
Thirty Five
One Hour Later:
‘You didn’t find one survivor?’ Asks Shaw as he sips his coffee and looks at the tired and burnt out McKenzie across his desk.
‘Apart from the two girls we found near the exit of the sewer system. They were trying to escape. They thought we were backup for the killer.’
‘Mullins is going to be fine then?’
‘Yeah, the two pricks that held him hostage are going down for a long time. Mullin’s received some pretty bad burns on his legs but the doctors said he will walk again; it just might take a few months of resting. By the way the Mayor is ecstatic at the quick nature of us finding his daughter.’
‘Oh, so one of them was the Mayor’s daughter Samantha?’
‘Yep and you won’t believe who the other one was…’
‘Who?’
‘You remember telling me about that woman who was coming over to talk to you about her girl that went missing four years ago?’
Shaw’s face whitens.
‘Mrs Ledger?’
‘Yeah, we found her daughter!’
‘Oh my god! That’s terrific!’
‘Yeah it sure is and the best part is she was the one who ended up killing the bastard. She’s safe and sound with her mum and dad. I guess that book she is writing may turn into quite an engrossing read now all the parts of the puzzle have been solved.’
Shaw smiles once more.
‘Well done Frank. You sure are a life saver. You deserve to go home and rest up. You look tired. I’ll do your paperwork for you, it’s the least I can do.’
‘Oh wow, thanks boss. I guess I should save people more often!’
Shaw laughs as he shakes his head in pure disbelief.
‘Well it beats you killing everyone now doesn’t it?’
‘I suppose’
‘Now get going McKenzie…That’s an order.’
Frank shakes his boss’s hand and walks out of the Chief’s office. He is met with a roomful of officers clapping and cheering him on for a job well done. It turns out that it may be a happy Christmas for Frank after all.
Thirty Six
Ten minutes later:
Frank makes his way to his Ford Capri. The dark parking lot is another reminder of the cold outside. He feels happy that he packed a coat in his trunk. He flicks the automatic switch on his key and pops the trunk open. He sees his coat and reaches for it. Underneath the coat is a bloodied machete. He smiles as he runs his finger across the blade. The voices in his head return.
‘FRESH….AND JUICY,’ the voice snarls
He shakes his head as if he is trying to get rid of the voices. He puts his coat on, and hovers over the trunk for a little while longer, staring at the machete as he does so.
‘TOUCH IT’
He continues to stare. He shakes himself out of the trance and reaches into his trouser pocket to grab his pills. He opens the lid and tilts his head back, swallowing a few pills. He chucks the n
ow empty pill container into the trunk. He shuts it and moves towards the driver’s door. He opens it and steps in, quickly shutting out the cold from the outside. He adjusts the mirror in his car and takes a moment to stare into his eyes.
‘A KILLER’S EYES’
He turns to look at the large book placed on the passenger’s seat. It looks old and worn in appearance. He smiles as he reaches out and touches its crusty rim.
‘A KILLER’S DIARY’
Frank grins as he looks back at his reflection in the rear view mirror.
‘A KILLER’S SMILE,’ Says the voice
‘Maybe….’ Frank says out loud.
He turns the ignition and lights the car park up with his halogen beaming headlights. He swerves backwards and screeches out of the parking lot.
‘Maybe’ He repeats once more as he turns on the radio and blasts some Metallica on his ride home.
Plenty of Pain
One
They say that pain is all in the mind, a byproduct of brainwaves and electrical charges going off simultaneously in your head. They say pain can be overcome. Tell that to the guy I’m torturing right now….
I grabbed his middle finger and slid the blade underneath his dirty fingernail. I could feel the dirt scrape against the cuticle as I did so. It made me smile. Didn’t his mom ever tell him to clean under his finger nails? My mom did. Hell, my school would check under my nails before every lesson. They’d line us up and check that we were presentable. It didn’t matter that the school we went to was a piece-of-shit dumpster. It mattered that we were clean enough to attend, or we’d be experiencing after-school detention.
Truth is, I was used to being the only kid in trouble. I was used to being made a fuss over. “You should really sort yourself out, Frank,” they would say.
Look at me now. All sorted out.
“Please don’t kill me — I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just stop hurting me! I can’t concentrate with all the pain,” the guy said as he looked up at me, his eyes all glazed over, bracing a look of sorrow in them as if I was supposed to give a shit.
“I’ll stop when I’m bored,” I said.
With that, I struck him in the face with a closed fist. I could feel his teeth colliding with my battered knuckles. They made a popping sound as a few broke away from the gum line and fell out of his mouth. I looked down at my fist, still clenched up as if I was expecting some resistance. I saw one of his teeth embedded in my knuckle. I smiled.
“Dentists aren’t cheap,” I said as I hit him again. The impact of the punch made the embedded tooth disappear, and, judging by his facial expression, it must have hurt.
“Please, I’m begging you,” he said, tears running down his beaten-up face.
The light fixture above his head, which consisted of a light bulb on a dangly wire, swung from left to right, making the mood and atmosphere in the room to my liking.
“Tell me what I want to know, or I’m going to shove some pincers in your mouth and finish off your teeth.”
He didn’t reply; he just continued to weep. I had had enough. It was getting late. I looked at the time.
“Eleven thirty-five p.m.,” I said to myself.
Suddenly there was some noise near the fire exit. The derelict building I was in was secure enough, or so I had thought. I heard a charge of explosives go off. The door flew off its hinges. By the time the smoke had cleared, I was being greeted by the Boston PD special entry unit. They had their machine guns pointed at me, and then they lowered them. A look of dismay arose on the lead man’s face as he caught a glimpse of the tied-up man behind me. He shook his head in disappointment.
“What the hell is this, Frank? I thought you said you were going to restrain the perp, not beat the shit out of him,” the lead Specials guy said as he took off his helmet. “Someone get him out of here. Clean him up and take him to the damn hospital before he bleeds to death,” he added.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a lighter and some smokes.
“Care to explain yourself?” he said as I lit up and puffed away on that blissful smoke I so craved.
“I was making sure I got some information from him, ya know, initiative,” I said, coughing up half a lung. My fitness sure wasn’t what it used to be.
“By beating the shit out of him? How is that showing initiative?”
“You need to break a few eggs to make an omelet,” I replied.
“Not when the omelet is only wanted for drug trafficking. You didn’t need to give him a new face,” the Special said as he walked past me and watched as his team helped up the struggling criminal I had just detained.
“So why turn up in all that gear? You obviously thought he was dangerous enough to bring the Specials on board,” I said.
“No, Frank,” he said as he turned back around. “We just thought you were dangerous enough to warrant such a response.”
Two
The man with the red sombrero walked into the Lucky Eleven café in downtown Boston. He could smell the fresh coffee granules as he walked through the big wide wooden doors. The aroma made him smile. It brought him back to his childhood. Papa had always smoked the coffee beans in the pot long before pouring it. It was a tradition in his house. Coffee was never instant; it was always savored and prepared to great length. It was something that the man with the red sombrero cherished, something that he held close to his beating heart.
“Can I help you, sir?” the woman behind the big oak counter asked.
“Oh, yes, dear. I would kill for a cup of your finest right about now,” he said, smiling away at the pretty woman. She, too, returned a smile. It was a pleasant exchange. He was a good-looking man, and she was a better-looking woman. He had more than a few years on her, but even in his forties, there was no denying his ability to pull off the “sexy Hispanic gentleman” look.
“How do you like your coffee?” she asked.
The man with the sombrero showed some more of his perfect teeth. His black hair was poking through the side of his hat, showing that he had a full head of hair. He gently put his hand on the counter, leaning on it like a carefree cowboy. He tipped his hat a little, as if the nonexistent sun was in his eyes.
“I’ll have it how I like my women. With a little spice,” he said.
She blushed a little and got to making him a favorite of the establishment. She poured out some hot Moroccan coffee into a tiny espresso cup. She added some spice mix, which consisted of saffron and, for a little extra kick, Tabasco.
“Perfect,” the man said.
“Four dollars, ninety-five cents, please.”
He handed her a twenty-dollar bill.
“Keep the change. For you only. Not the shop,” he said.
The woman looked delighted. She had never received a fifteen-dollar tip for a cup of coffee.
“Why, thank you, sir,” she said.
“No problem, honey,” the man said, taking his coffee from the counter and strolling over to an empty seat.
The whole café was pretty much empty. He was the only customer there, apart from a busy-looking businessman who was sitting at a table in the front. He looked like he was flustered, going through various files on his table. The man with the hat watched on, intrigued. He liked looking at people when they didn’t know they had an audience. It was something he had practiced a lot.
The businessman continued to look flustered. The man with the hat downed his coffee and waited. He was fiddling with a sugar packet as he looked around the café in anticipation. It was then that he looked at the clock.
“Twelve a.m.,” he whispered.
He stopped fiddling with the sugar packet and stretched his arms out wide. No one was paying attention. The girl at the counter was reading a book. The sounds of country-western music were droning on in the background, coming from an old-looking radio on the wall. He diverted his attention back to the businessman. He, too, was too busy to notice the man in the sombrero.
“Twelve oh one a.m.,” the man with th
e hat said as he got up and sighed. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a handgun with a silencer attached. He turned slightly and faced the counter. The woman didn’t see it coming. He pressed the trigger two times. Two muffled gunshots went off. They sounded like clicks of a pen. Two holes emerged on the back of the book the lady was reading. Behind the book, a bloodied face held the last words on the page as she slumped down behind the counter. The man with the hat paced toward the table where the businessman was sitting. He hadn’t even noticed the man in the hat. He was too busy trying to put his life together. And then “The Mexican” had entered his life, holding a gun to his head.
“Move, and I’ll kill you here,” the man with the hat said as the businessman turned his head in shock to see the sombrero-wearing man holding a gun.
“What? I don’t understand. What’s going on?” the businessman asked.
“Get up. You’re coming with me.”
Three
I wasn’t in the mood for a debriefing. As far as I was concerned, they could have stuck the whole case up their ass. It was getting tiring now. All of the politics that came with being a detective. It wasn’t really my scene. I preferred being out on the streets, bringing the scum to justice. I hated all the office work that went with it.
The forms, the calls from headquarters. The lawsuits. The bitchy HR personnel. The idiot chief of police and his goons of merry men. It was ridiculous, and I had had enough. Maybe it was time I quit. Maybe I could get some private security work. Yeah. That would be great. Private. No eyes prying on my every move.
