Maddog 1 The Begining

by Tom Golabek

I drove like a lunatic let loose. At the turns, the tires screamed for me to slow down. A grimace covered my face from ear to ear, and I sneered at the clue as it had sneered at me before. How stupid I was not to have realized what it was sooner. It was in front of my face all this time, but I couldn’t see it. However, now it came in as clear as the sun at noon. I could hear the words Matt had said that opened the curtain for me…”I sure could use a drink.”

  I was passing through the northern part of Yonkers now, and still heading southbound. My finger pushed a cigarette out of my pack of butts, and shoved it into my dry dusty mouth. More and more cars filled the road as I neared the city. Their headlights stabbed their way through the night blinding the oncoming cars.

  The sounds of crickets disappeared as the apartments and business offices captured the scenery around me.

  I was energized. One more man was going to die tonight. Just one more! I could imagine his face when he sees me. He probably thinks I’m dead by now. He’s the one who set up this trap for me. How surprised he’s gonna be. Why, his jaw will probably drop to his knees. I smiled as I thought of that image.

  Downtown Yonkers was now in front of me. Even though the stores and businesses were closed, the lights emanating through their windows lit up the area.

  I came to a red light. A patrol car was parked at the side of the street with the cops in it. So far, I had run four red lights on my way here, but I was going to have to wait on this one. The damn red lights in Yonkers last for ninety seconds. It was the longest ninety seconds I had spent in a long time. It felt like five minutes had gone by before it turned green. Finally, I puttered away until I was out of sight of the patrol car, and then put on the steam again.

  My tires wheeled down Broadway, running several other red lights. Cars screeched to a halt as I drove by them on the wrong and right sides of the road. A couple of autos collided, and others were run off the street as I raced by. I didn’t care. I had one thing on my mind, and I was heading for it with abandon. My breathing was heavy, and my lungs inhaled and exhaled faster and faster. I gripped the steering wheel so hard that it hurt my hands.

  I could see my destination now as I rumbled down the last block. My hands jerked the wheel to the right, and my foot slammed on the brakes. The tires left rubber marks on the street, and the front end of the car came to rest on top of the sidewalk.

  I grabbed the .45 from under the dash, checked the clip, stuffed it into my holster, and jumped out of the car. People on the sidewalk passed me without saying a word. They saw the anger in my face. I pushed through the door to see my bitter enemy. He faced me now. His eyes were wide, and filled with surprise, hate, fear, and terror. He was standing behind the bar mixing a drink. That’s right! It was Dutch! Mr. Big, the guy responsible for kidnapping Lola, the man behind the syndicate, the person who tried to have me killed, was now standing in front of me. An hour ago, I would have thought he was one of my best friends.

  I stood at the bar, and roared, “Everybody get outta here.” My voice echoed throughout the lounge, and the joint emptied in less than twenty seconds. Stools were knocked to the ground, glasses were tipped over, and change was left on the bar. The only sound to be heard was the commotion of the people now outside. I quietly said, “Well, are you the bartender? Set me up a drink. The usual, pal.”

  He was shaking, and his hands could hardly hold the bottle of Four Roses. Whiskey fell around the glass. I grabbed the bottle from him, poured my own drink, and slugged it down. My hands reached out grabbing his shirt. Spit sprayed out of my mouth as I brayed, “Dutch, you are in for a little fun. You’re gonna wish that your father had used a rubber when you were conceived.”

  My free hand picked up the bottle of booze, and brought it around my shoulder as if I was winding up to throw a baseball. He tried to squirm out of my hold, but I held tight. My arm slung forward with lightning speed bringing the bottle crashing into his jaw. Both the bottle, and his jaw, broke in several places. Shards of glass flew, leaving a jagged-edged cutting tool in my grip. He let out a howl, and fell to the floor. Bare bone hung from his face, and blood flowed.

  I jumped over the bar and picked the rat up. Four or five of his lower front teeth almost fell out. A bottle can make a mean weapon. I said, “Dutch baby, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” My hand pulled back then slashed forward, gouging the sharp edges of the broken end of the bottle in and across his distorted, mangled jaw. It tore into his chin repeatedly. Teeth bounced onto the floor, and blood flowed more freely than before. I could see the bones of his jaw clearly. Flesh hung like shreds of soaked paper. Dutch could no longer stand, so I propped him against the bar. What a softy!

  I thought of the sadistic plan he had engineered to trap me. I thought of the things that had happened to Lola because of it. All I could see was blood. He screamed. Loud, wild, unrecognizable screams that only a man suffering the worst of pain could yell. I saw my arm rise up. My hand grabbed his hanging jaw, and with a jolt, yanked it from his face. Two crisp snaps sounded from where the bones were once joined. Skin and sinew stretched and popped like rubber bands. The upper half of Dutch’s body folded onto the bar, quivering, and shaking. He was now in a deep shock. I threw his flesh torn jaw across the bar, and looked at him. His hideous tongue was dangling like a worm on a fishhook. His lower lip, teeth, and chin were gone. The gyrating tongue was the only thing left below his upper teeth. Dark red blood spewed from his lacerated face. He just stood there, and stared into my eyes.

  My stare plowed through his and I spat out, “Dutch, I should have known it was you a long time ago. I should have realized that the only times someone tried to bump me off was when I left this joint. When I came in, you made a call to Dragon, and he sent his boys out here to wait for me to leave. I was wondering how they always seemed to know where I was. Then there was the time when you were in the back room with Dragon. I saw his foot at the door before you pushed him back. He was the only guy I ever saw who wore maroon shoes. But that wasn’t the big piece of the puzzle that was missing. I went behind the bar the same night, picked up a weird looking bottle that had caught my eye, and smelled it. It smelled like oil. The label read Voltesso N something or other. It didn’t pop into my brain until today. That was your big mistake. Leaving that bottle there cost you your life.”

  A large pool of blood was forming on the bar. Soon he would be dead from the loss of blood. I had no mercy for this guy. My hand grabbed for another bottle of whiskey, and I crashed the neck against the counter, shattering the top. I yelled, “Did you ever get a cut and have whiskey poured on it? It puts a sting into your life. You look like you could use something to perk you up.”

  The hand that held the broken bottle of booze flicked towards him, and splashed the fluid over his grotesque and torn open face. I could almost see the alcohol eat into his nerves. Macabre cries of terrible pain shrieked through the air. His hand covered his mutilated face, and he fell to the floor. The pain was so intense that he started convulsing. It became worse as the alcohol ate deeper and deeper into his raw nerves. I stood there, and watched with a smile from ear to ear.

  The sounds of sirens resonated from outside. They became louder until they stopped in front of the lounge. Shouts echoed through the doors and the crowd outside parted to make a path for the police. As the cops charged in with their pistols drawn, I raised my hands into the air, and put them against the wall. They frisked me, pushed me around, and looked at me as if I was dirt. I didn’t care.

  A smirk was still on my face, and I was satisfied…too satisfied to get mad. The four cops looked at the mangled body quivering on the floor, and two of them heaved everything, but their intestines out of their mouths. I laughed, not to myself, but out loud. They all heard me, and their faces showed that they didn’t like it. The men in blue shoved me through the crowd and into the back of a caged squad car.

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CH 18 Epilogue