Hank's Radio (Haunted Collection Series Book 4)

by Ron Ripley

  And what then? he asked himself. Get arrested for being a jerk?

  He was contemplating that as a solution when a doctor came into the room.

  She was a small woman, with black hair streaked with silver cut into a bob. Her face was slightly rounded, although her chin had a curious point, and her eyebrows were sharp over her eyes.

  “You’ve upset Grant,” the doctor said.

  Tom glanced at her name tag and said, “Doctor Delk, I don’t care.”

  “Evidently,” she replied. “He’s only doing his job.”

  “And I need to do mine,” Tom snapped, the phantom pain in his hand pulsing.

  Her eyebrows raised up in surprise. “Your job? I’m sorry, what do you do for work that you need to leave a hospital after you’ve had an amputation.”

  “I hunt the dead,” Tom said, getting to his feet.

  She looked at him, concern and pity in her eyes.

  “I know for a fact,” he continued, “that everything is paid for here. I also know, for a fact, that I am going to walk out of that door. I have things I need to do. I can do them with medicine from you, or I can do them without medicine from you. Either works for me. What you need to figure out is if your conscience is going to let me walk out the door without meds.”

  She started to speak, and Tom interrupted her.

  “And let me remind you,” he said, hating himself for what he was going to say, “that if you call security or the police to keep me here, I will tell them how you and the others took the money and falsified records. Pretty sure hospital management is going to come down pretty hard on everyone for that. A whole lot of people will be out of work, and it will be your fault.”

  Her mouth set itself into a small, grim line and Tom hid his self-loathing. He knew she only wanted to help him, just as he knew the nurse was trying to do the same.

  But Stefan Korzh was still out there.

  Tom was sure of it. Bontoc hadn’t returned with the man’s head. He hadn’t stopped by to say the mission had failed.

  That meant Tom needed to get out of the hospital and home. He had to get in touch with Victor, and he hoped Nicholas would be there.

  Doctor Delk reached into her jacket, removed a prescription pad, and wrote out several scripts, tearing each one off and handing it to him. When all were in his hands Tom hesitated, then he whispered, “Thank you.”

  The angry expression on her face fell away, and a look of deep concern replaced it.

  “What’s going on?” she asked in a low voice. “What are you hiding from?”

  Tom looked at the woman and forced a smile. His voice cracked as he spoke. “I really do hunt the dead. And I destroy them.”

  She hesitated, then she reached into her jacket again and removed a business card.

  “Keep this with you,” she said, handing it to him. “Call or email if you need anything, and that arm is going to need to be looked after.”

  Tom nodded and thanked her as he left the room.

  With his head hung low, he left the hospital and tried to find his way home.

  ***

  Bontoc went to a veterinarian’s office and found it locked for the evening. He broke in with little difficulty and dismantled the alarm system with similar ease. Keeping a lid on his anger, he went about the laborious process of cleaning himself up and stopping the blood loss. In the medicine chest, he found antibiotics, and in the surgical room, he found other supplies he needed.

  With the help of the bathroom mirror, he used a medical stapler to close the long slash across his back, and the deep puncture in his shoulder. The other cut he stitched up clumsily by hand, and then he bandaged himself as best he could.

  In a closet, he found an extra-large sweatshirt for Penn State University. In a refrigerator, he found someone’s leftover Chinese food. He ate the cold lo mein and fried rice before taking several painkillers and the antibiotics. Several cans of Coke washed everything down and sat in silence in the waiting room for almost an hour.

  When he had sufficiently recovered from the shock of his injuries and accepted the surprising capabilities of Stefan Korzh, Bontoc took out his phone and called Ariana.

  It rang only once before she answered it.

  “Hello?” she asked.

  “This is Bontoc,” he stated.

  “Ah,” Ariana said simply. “How did it go?”

  “Not well,” he confessed.

  “Did you complete your task?” she asked, an edge entering her voice.

  “Not in the slightest,” Bontoc admitted. “He knows I am after him. He was able to inflict significant damage on my person as well. I trust that he will remain where he is, but I do believe he shall be far more alert, which of course is quite unfortunate. Did you settle the boy’s bill?”

  She hesitated before she asked, “Yes, I took care of the bill. How bad was the boy’s injury?”

  “He lost his hand, to the elbow,” Bontoc said.

  Ariana changed the subject. “What are you doing about Stefan?”

  “Nothing at the moment,” he said. “I am injured, and I need some recuperation. Quite a bit, I imagine, so I will be forced to find a place to stay until such time as I can finish the job.”

  “When do you think that might be?” Ariana asked, and Bontoc was impressed with the cold, impractical manner in which she asked her questions.

  “Judging from previous experience,” Bontoc mused, “I suspect as long as four weeks. Possibly as short as three. I will keep you updated throughout, however.”

  “I appreciate that,” Ariana said, “and I am sure my father will as well.”

  Before he could respond, the woman ended the call.

  Bontoc opened another can of Coke and drank it. Then, sufficiently braced with caffeine, he called his mother to check on how the blind woman was.

  He was nothing if not a dutiful son.

  Chapter 48: Searching for the Answer

  Frank parked the car a short distance away from Amy Marin’s building, and Victor felt foolish. He sat in the passenger seat of the man’s Toyota Camry, an old brown briefcase on his lap. The latches were a tarnished brass, and there was no lock upon it. The case pressed down on his legs, the obscene weight of the two-pound sledgehammer revolting.

  Victor knew the radio had to be destroyed, just as he knew that Amy Marin had as much culpability in regards to the murders in the Arel community as Hank did. And, at the same amount, as far as he was concerned, as Stefan Korzh.

  The thought of the man who had caused the death of his wife sent a spark of hatred through him.

  “How are you doing over there?” Frank asked, seeming to sense Victor’s discomfort.

  “I’ll be better when everything is said and done,” Victor answered. He hadn’t told either Frank or Shane about his unexpected meeting with the dead woman when he had visited the street. The conversation felt sacred.

  One more death for Stefan Korzh to atone for.

  “Works that way for most of us,” Frank said, smiling in understanding. “Come on. No time like the present.”

  Nodding, Victor grasped the handle of the briefcase and got out of the car. The smell of trash and waste swarmed over him, and he looked around, surprised until he saw a row of lidless garbage cans on the curb. Refuse spilled out the tops in torn, black bags and piled around and on top of the granite curb.

  A gray and black cat sat on its haunches and watched them, tail twitching rhythmically.

  Frank took the lead and Victor followed in silence, attempting to remain unseen by any who might be looking. The former monk, on the other hand, walked with purpose to the entrance of the battered apartment building that Amy Marin lived in.

  When he reached the door, Frank didn’t hesitate. He grasped the old doorknob and twisted it, letting them both in.

  “How did you know it would be unlocked?” Victor asked, after the door had slid shut behind them and they were making their way up the stairs.

  “I didn’t,” Frank said. “I figured
it would be. It would cost too much money to keep changing the lock on the door every time the building manager had to evict someone. People tend to cycle through these apartments pretty quickly in neighborhoods like this.”

  Victor took the man’s word on the subject, and they continued on in silence. When they reached Marin’s floor, they headed down the hall, and there was little noise to be heard from the other apartments. The entire area stank of sweat and vomit, old cigarettes and rot.

  Depression welled up within him, and Victor fought it back.

  “Are you alright?” Frank asked in a soft voice.

  Victor nodded.

  “Try not to think about this,” Frank whispered to him, gesturing at the walls and the peeling paint. “This is life here, and the presence of whatever she has in her apartment is making it worse. It is a form of oppression, an evil weight seeking to crush the joy out of you.”

  “I don’t have any joy,” Victor whispered.

  Frank smiled. “Sure you do. Shane told me about the boy, Tom. You two have each other. Remember him, and don’t focus solely on vengeance. If you do, you’ll end up looking like my friend Shane. If you make it out at all.”

  “Okay,” Victor said. “Okay.”

  “Are you ready now?” Frank asked.

  “Yes.” Victor took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the briefcase. “Yes.”

  “Good,” Frank said, “because we’re here. Let’s say hello to Ms. Marin.”

  Victor watched as Frank knocked on the door, and he wondered if Amy Marin was home or not.

  Chapter 49: Trapped and Unwilling

  Stefan had cleaned and stitched his wound. He nursed a glass of vodka and pondered his situation.

  Moving the collection again was out of the question. He had only just finished the defenses, and while the attack by the unknown stranger had been disruptive, it had also been educational. While he had expected attacks over or under the perimeter protected by the fence, he had not even considered someone being so audacious as to sneak in directly behind him.

  Stefan shook his head and took a sip. The vodka, slightly chilled, slid easily down his throat. He would need to come up with additional safety measures at the entrance, and he would have to think of a better way to send out the items he sold.

  Logic dictated that the only way the stranger could have found him was through Unionville because that was the only place he used the pickup.

  Stefan picked up the knife the man had left behind and examined it. The weapon showed signs of use, and of care. There was no doubt the stranger was proficient with a blade and had there been any sort of light in the warehouse, the outcome might have been significantly different.

  The idea rankled him, and Stefan got up. He exited the room and went into the observation room, sitting down in front of the wall of monitors. Leaning forward, he turned on his laptop and created a new document. With a leisurely, hunt and peck method, he began to type out a list of new supplies to bolster his defenses.

  Humming to himself, Stefan finished his vodka, enjoyed the comfortable buzz the alcohol provided, and considered how much money he would have to move from his various accounts to cover the cost of the items he would need.

  The price wouldn’t matter, not in the end, because he would be more than willing to pay it.

  Anything to ensure the completion of his task; the destruction of his parents’ life work.

  ***

  Anne had led Cam to the outskirts of a large warehouse, but she had forbidden him to cross the fence and seek shelter in the building.

  He was her creature, and so he did as she bade him to.

  What little food he caught or stole, Cam ate raw. His shelter was little more than an earthen cave beneath the roots of an upturned tree. He kept Anne wrapped in his backpack, safe from the weather, and close to him whenever possible.

  “Hello,” a voice said.

  Cam snapped around, bringing his hatchet up and stopping only when Anne scolded him.

  The man who had spoken was the same one who had escorted them out of the gas station, the one that had blown up after his failed attempt to take the object of Anne’s desire. As Cam watched, the tall man winced as he sat down outside of the shelter.

  “Do you know who is in that building behind that fence?” the man asked.

  Cam shook his head, still clutching the axe.

  “Someone your mistress and I desire to see dead,” the man continued. “However, I have learned, to my own chagrin, that we must take this individual together. I am not in any sort of condition to do that now. We must hunt him when I am healthy. No sooner, and no later than that. Your mistress understands this. Do you?”

  Cam hesitated, and then he nodded.

  “Excellent,” the man said, grinning. “My name is Bontoc, and I will see you again soon. Do you require anything before I leave this area?”

  Cam lowered the axe, examined the edge of the blade and whispered, “A whetstone.”

  Bontoc chuckled, nodded, and said, “Then you shall have one.”

  Cam watched the man leave and hoped he would return soon.

  The sooner the axe was sharpened, the happier he would be.

  Chapter 50: Ingress and Egress

  The door to Amy Marin’s apartment opened a crack, and a strong odor of burnt garlic wafted out, assailing Victor’s nose. A short woman, almost dwarf-like in stature and impressively stout, glared out at them through the narrow space between the door and the frame.

  Her face was flat, as though someone had pressed it too often and for too long against a rough surface as a child. Long, grayish yellow strands of hair hung in dirty clumps from her round head, and black dots speckled her bulbous nose. Her eyes were small and mean, and a dark shade of brown. When she opened her thick lips to speak, the smell of garlic increased, and the color of her teeth matched her hair.

  “What do you want?” she demanded, adjusting the tattered terrycloth robe she wore.

  “We’re going door to door, selling Bibles,” Frank said, lying smoothly, “and we were wondering if you might be interested.”

  A sneer replaced the glare on her face, and she let out a bark of a laugh. “You’re in the wrong neighborhood to be peddling religion, fool. Get on your way.”

  “If we could just come in for a minute,” Frank continued, “I could show you some excellent editions that my friend has in his briefcase.”

  Frank gestured towards the case in Victor’s hands, and when her eyes flickered over to it, Frank’s fist lashed out.

  The movement was a blur, and Victor wasn’t sure if he had really seen it until he registered the solid thump of Frank’s hand against Amy’s forehead. She staggered back, the door swinging open. Her hands curled up into claws, and she reached for Frank even as her eyes rolled up, showing the whites for a split second before she crashed backward onto the peeling linoleum of the floor.

  Frank shook his hand and winced. “Woman has a strong head. I’ve hit men like that, and they’ve gone right over. It’s a good thing I didn’t pull the punch.”

  The former monk pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped into the apartment, and Victor was close behind him. As Frank shut the door and drew his taser, Victor dropped down and placed the briefcase on the floor. He unlocked it, flipped the cover up and removed first the gloves, then the sledgehammer.

  With the heavy tool in his hand, he stood up and glanced around.

  The apartment was small, sparsely furnished, and filthy. It consisted of a couch that looked as though it doubled as Marin’s bed, a small bathroom, and a kitchenette.

  On the small countertop in the kitchenette, Victor saw what they had come for.

  Hank’s radio.

  “There it is,” Victor said. “In the kitchen.”

  “Grab a blanket off the couch,” Frank said. “Put the radio on the floor and then drape the blanket over it. Should cut down on the shrapnel from when you destroy it.”

  Victor nodded his agreement, dragged
an old quilt off the couch and brought it into the kitchen. He dropped it onto the floor, laid the sledgehammer down on it, and took hold of the radio. The radio was bitterly cold, his fingers going numb despite the cotton gloves.

  Worried that he might drop it on himself, Victor hastily carried it to the blanket and set the radio down. He threw the edges of the blanket over the radio, and then picked up the hammer.

  “And what, my friend, are you planning on doing with that?” a voice asked from a shadow in the kitchen.

  Victor twisted around in time to see a tall, thin ghost step out. He was dressed sharply in a suit whose style had gone out of fashion eighty years earlier. And there was a grim, humorless expression on the man’s face.

  Instead of answering, Victor raised the hammer up, but before he could bring it down, Hank smashed into him, throwing him backward into the small refrigerator. As the contents within it rattled, Victor got to his feet, swinging with his right hand, the iron ring passing through the ghost and causing him to vanish.

  “Are you alright?” Frank asked from behind him.

  Without looking back, Victor nodded, adding, “Caught me by surprise.”

  “Me too,” Hank whispered and slammed into Victor from the side.

  The blow knocked the sledgehammer out of his hand, and it sent Victor sprawling across the floor. He twisted around to see where the dead man was even as Frank took a step forward.

  Amy Marin’s right hand came up and caught hold of the other man’s ankle as he tried to pass by her.

  An expression of annoyance darted over Frank’s face, and then the man pointed the taser down at her and fired into her chest.

  The darts launched out with a hiss of compressed air and buried themselves into the folds of her robe.

  But nothing happened.

  “The charge is dead!” Frank yelled angrily, tossing the useless taser away.

  Something cold struck Victor on the side of the head, and he let out an angry cry of pain as he rolled towards the radio. He got to his knees and looked around for the dead man, and was able to thrust his iron-bearing hand into Hank’s thigh.