Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder

by Peter Casilio

  Garez was strapped to an iron bed in a concrete room, possibly a basement. The room had no windows, only one door. The only light came from one Plexiglas panel two feet square in the concrete ceiling. The thug was just under six feet tall and in his late twenties. His black straight hair was swept forward and stuck to his cheeks. His eyes were dark brown and he was about a hundred and forty pounds, extremely slender for his height.

  There was the sound of a key inserted into a lock, which turned, then with two thuds, the door swung open and Mores entered.

  “Mitchell Garez, who are you working for?” Mores gave no introductions; it was intentional. He did not want Garez to know he had anything to do with the government, hoping he would think he was a competitor, a drug smuggler.

  Garez turned his head toward Mores. “Go to hell,” he said coolly. “We’re all dead when they find out they’ve lost two thousand pounds of their heroin, we’ll be stiffs. You know how much that’s worth.” He looked Mores in the eye when he spoke, eyeball to eyeball. There was no hesitation in his words; Garez did not look down or away from Mores like someone who had been lying. “We’re already dead, why bother with the doctor, dude? Maybe if we deliver all the junk, just maybe we’ll live. Dude, if my people don’t get that heroin, and they find you, they have connections. I mean, good sources all over the northeast.”

  “We want a cut, or my people will shut it down. Give me a name, a number so I can speak with them. My people are not hogs; we’ll work for our share of the cut. All I want to do is talk to your boss. Once we talk, we’ll give them the goods. You give us a name, we’ll have a conversation, give them the goods, and you’ll live.”

  “Wow, okay, that makes sense; you have a pen to write this down? I want you to get the information right, so I can walk out of here and get on with the rest of my life. Man! What was I worried about?” He looked Mores in the eye, stretching his neck towards him, limited by his restraints on the bed. Garez yelled, “Bullshit! I’m dead; you’re dead, end of story. You wasted the doctor’s time patching me up, I’m dead and so are you. You just don’t know it yet.” Garez tensed his whole body, pulling frantically at his restraints The bandages on his shoulder and hip began to turn red as his sutures tore. He screamed like a crazy man, “I’m dead, mother frickin dead! Don’t call the doctor, let me bleed to death--it will be less painful! Oh God, do you know what they’ll do to me? You stupid son of bitch, you’ve killed us both! The big WOP that shot me, that evil dark psycho. I’ve never seen someone shoot like that psycho. He should have run, my God, a sane man would have run, not him. Listen to him that big son of bitch. He knows them, he knows what they’ll do!”

  “How does he know them?” Mores asked.

  “He knows them, you moron. He’s a killer, a hired gun, wops are all connected. We’re all dead. Do me a favor and let me die--they’ll torture me!”

  Startled, Mores stepped back from the bed. He was confident in the FBI’s background check on Mitchelli, he believed Garez was shot, drugged and in shock. Garez was bleeding profusely, his body strained against the six straps holding him to the bed. He knocked on the door and ordered an aide to sedate Garez before he bled to death. The aide reached into a cabinet and pulled out a syringe that was loaded with a predetermined dose.

  Mores and the aide struggled to hold the maniac’s arms down, “Give him the whole dose, hurry!” Garez’s body stopped, frozen in an instant. Then after several moments it relaxed, his eyes eerily staring at the light above his head. Mores could smell the odor of human feces. Garez had lost control of his bodily functions and soiled himself.

  For the first time in Mores’s career, he was scared, fearing his opposition. He had to look away from Garez. The site of Garez bleeding and lying in his own feces, staring psychotically at the ceiling made him feel as though he was no better than the men they were trying to apprehend. To save his soul, Mores quickly thought of the twenty-one missing agents and their desperate families. He ordered the aide to clean Garez up and left the room to contact Freed with an update.

  ***

  Chippewa Avenue in the city of Buffalo was teeming with bar patrons moving from one bar to the next. The reputation of the street was renowned for its prostitutes who populated it curbs in the fifties, sixties, and seventies. In the eighties, the cross street began to foster a higher class of clientele. Yuppies frequented the former red-light avenue, not for sex, but for retro bands, drinks, and fine dining. Chippewa Avenue was now a very respectable location to wine and dine. Adjacent to the theater district, a ten minute street train ride to the hockey stadium, within walking distance to the Allentown art district, the restaurants and bars on Chippewa Avenue became the hub for party goers.

  A man sat in a bungalow booth at the back of an upscale Chippewa bar, smoking a fine Cuban cigar drinking cognac from a large crystal glass. His face was obscured by the dim lighting at his bungalow, certainly a convenient coincidence. The man sipped his cognac, raised his cigar to his lips, and took a long deep puff. The end of the cigar turned a red so deep it could be seen across the bar. No one else in the bar dared to smoke and break the laws of New York State. A voluptuous blonde-haired woman approached the table; her calves and posture extenuated by her long spiked heels. Her black dress was short, form fitting to a razor perfect body. The tight dress made it easy to notice she was not wearing panties or a bra; she needed neither. In the dark bar, the only noticeable makeup was her deep red lipstick. She wore a large, diamond necklace that hung around her slim neck, cascading down to her extraordinary cleavage.

  The blonde woman scooted across the horseshoe shaped seat in the bungalow snuggling up against the mysterious man. She whispered, “The package was dropped but the delivery was never made, and the couriers are missing.”

  The cigar rose to his thin lips and he inhaled; the hot tip of the cigar glowed a hellish red. He spoke, “I want a gathering tomorrow at the garage, get the word out. Tell them we lost our two hundred million dollar package, and we must stop at nothing to recover it, nothing! Whoever has our package will suffer for their interference.”

  His dilemma was catastrophic. Half the cost of the package paid up front by the regional gangs he supplied, they would pursue torturous retribution for any delays. The full payment was made a month after delivery, the month allowed the gang time to distribute and collect from their larger dealers. He took a large sip of his cognac and returned to study the patrons at the bar.

  He continued, “I miss the days when all I had to worry about was finding kids for my movies. You were my star. What a shame you had to bud prematurely.”

  The blonde did not speak, the horror of her childhood shot through her mind. Stolen from her family, she was his slave, an adolescent forced to perform erotic hardcore porno in front of a camera for the viewing enjoyment of pedophiles. Her hands trembled, her stomach cramped, and she was immediately nauseated. She was disgusted he brought up their past.

  She quickly slid to the end of the seat, stood, and immediately disappeared among the bar patrons.

  ***

  Tuesday morning Mitchelli opened his eyes and found MacJames and Coarseni watching the morning news in his room.

  Coarseni noticed him first. “Hey Angela, the superstar’s awake; I’ll go tell the nurse.” He left the room after turning off the TV.

  MacJames went to the bed and grabbed Mitchelli’s hand, “How did you sleep? You didn’t look good last night.”

  “Ok, I feel much better. I’m out of here this morning.” He moved to sit up and winced with pain, immediately grabbing his side just above his hip.

  “You shouldn’t be moving, you’re not going anywhere. Just relax, you need to rest.” She touched his head gently with her hand.

  “Angela, you’ve asked me to tell you what I am thinking. I am telling you, I’m thinking I need to get the hell out of here now!”

  There was the clicking of heels on the tile floor outside the room and the door swung open in a fury. Coarseni followed the doctor in, eye
ing her behind and purchased breasts. A physician’s assistant followed them in and closed the door behind her as she entered. The PA knew Dr. Stazi’s pension for speaking loud.

  Stazi shouted, “How’s my favorite patient, whose life I saved?” She nudged MacJames out of the way as she bent over and hugged Mitchelli kissing him on the cheek, and thrusting her breasts in his face as she stood up. Coarseni eye’s never left the doctor’s perky merchandise hanging below her shoulders. MacJames backed up and stood by Coarseni.

  Coarseni whispered to MacJames, “God, there’s no way those are real, don’t you think they’re store bought?” MacJames ignored him.

  “Peter you have been making excellent progress,” Stazi said. “I do good work and get paid very well, ask my ex-husband--I’m still paying him alimony.” She put on one rubber glove and lifted the sheet exposing the left side of Mitchelli’s torso. With her gloved hand she removed the bandages and probed his sutures, while placing her bare hand on his naked thigh close to his groin. The PA looked away in shock. MacJames gasped.

  Coarseni said softly, “Down girl, easy, don’t say anything, this should be good, she’s a real cougar, meow. Me likey.”

  Stazi pressed on the lower torso wound and Mitchelli’s face grimaced from the pain. “Drop his gown, I want to look at his chest…I mean, his wound on his chest.” Mitchelli undid his gown with the assistance of the PA.

  MacJames was shocked Mitchelli was bed ridden and still losing weight. “Doctor Stazi, has Peter eaten anything in the last several days?”

  Stazi murmured, “Peter, what a wonderful little concerned friend you have, does she babysit your children?” Mitchelli laughed, Suzanne Stazi knew just how to push another woman’s buttons. “No my dear, he has not. It is not unusual for someone who has been in shock not to eat for several days. He is a long way from starving.” As Dr. Stazi examined Mitchelli’s chest wound with her gloved hand, she cupped his pec with her bare hand. Embarrassed, the PA turned her head and glanced at Mitchelli’s chart.

  “Peter, my love,” Stazi said, “My work is excellent, I should have been a plastic surgeon; you may not even have a scar. Rest up, by this time next week you may be able to leave. Oh, I want to check your pulse.” She lifted Mitchelli’s hand to her breast pressing it under her nipples. His palm down, she silently counted the beats.

  Mitchelli spoke. “Suzanne, I want to leave today.”

  “Absurd, your babysitter may be right, you’re delusional and need to eat.”

  “Could you ask your assistant to wait in the hall? I need to speak with you and my friends.” Stazi pushed the back of Mitchelli’s hand into her left breast and held it there while she asked the PA to leave the room. MacJames moved towards Stazi as though she was going to punch her and Coarseni grabbed her.

  He whispered in her ear, “Easy Angela, Peter knows exactly what he is doing, Christ he’s Italian, that makes him an operator. He’s going to work this bitch over, get ready.”

  Mitchelli looked at Stazi. “Suzanne,” he said, “you’ve done an excellent job, my brother Patrick said you’re the best.”

  “He’s right, I’m known as the Polish miracle worker in the emergency room. I’ve always liked Pat, he’s very perceptive.”

  “You performed a miracle on me, I feel great. I can’t thank you enough.”

  Stazi continued to hold Mitchelli’s hand to her breasts. MacJames’s body stiffened as Stazi gloated. “Thanks to me you’ll have a speedy recovery, my love. I saved my best miracle for you, my precious.”

  “You performed a miracle.”

  “I’m the best.”

  “I need to leave the hospital today.”

  Stazi shouted, “WHAT? Absolutely not my love!” She clenched his hand between her breasts. “Your movements need to be restricted, my God, that mugger shot you twice, you almost bled to death.”

  “You saved me, I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m your doctor, that makes me your savior, and you’re not leaving, I’ll hear no more.”

  “Suzanne, my two friends, Dominique and Angela work for the FBI.” He looked at them. “Show Suzanne your credentials.” MacJames couldn’t wait--she quickly withdrew her leather case which held her FBI identification, flipping it open, almost hitting Stazi in the face. Stazi backed up in disbelief as Mitchelli’s hand fell from her chest. “They want me to go to their office and personally identify someone they think is the mugger who shot me. You don’t want to bring a lineup of five gang members in the hospital; they could start taking names, like who was the miracle worker who saved the witness that could testify placing them behind bars for the next twenty years.”

  “Peter, my God, what color are they, oh God, they could be Russians, would they follow me to my house?”

  “Suzanne, I don’t want to see you get mixed up in this, God forbid anything should happen.”

  Stazi bent over him and gave him a long wet kiss on the lips. “Peter,” she said, licking her lips, “you’re always looking out for everyone else, my love. If you leave, I am going to personally make professional house visits at night to make sure you are taking care of my surgical work. I promise you, your sponge bath will be intoxicating. I will have the nurse dress your wounds. Let’s see how they look in the morning, no promises, listen to your friend, and eat.” She walked to the door. “Peter, did you tell me what color they were? They’re not Russian, are they? Oh, don’t tell me.”

  Mitchelli shouted in a firm authoritative voice, “Suzanne, I’m leaving now!” Stazi stopped dead in her tracks. MacJames and Coarseni were stunned by his surprising tone with the doctor.

  Stazi turned around and walked back to Mitchelli’s bed. With no signs of any discomfort, he sat up in bed, touched the IV lines tugging on his forearms, and placed his feet on the floor.

  “Peter, you cannot leave, I will not authorize it. I don’t want you to hurt yourself, please, my love.”

  “I’ll pull these tubes out of my arms, and walk out of this room. I understand your concerns. Under different circumstances, anyone else other than me, they make perfect sense. I must leave now. I can do it without you or with you.” He grabbed her hands. “Suzanne, I prefer to do it with your guidance.”

  Coarseni whispered to MacJames, “Guidance, can you believe this guy? Great word choice, grab your purse; we’re out of here.”

  Stazi went to pull Mitchelli’s hands to her chest. Mitchelli firmly resisted. “Peter, my love, you are crazy,” she said.

  Coarseni whispered, “God, I wish those were my hands; your boyfriend’s a nutcase to walk away from those boobs.”

  “Suzanne, that’s why I cannot stay here; my friends will give you their cards--if anyone calls questioning you regarding my stay at the hospital I want you to immediately call my friends. I need a bag packed with bandages and painkillers, enough for two weeks. Please get me a pair of shoes, anything, and scrubs, my clothes were shredded in pre-op. Dom will accompany you while you get the things I need. I want you to note on my discharge forms that my wounds were minor, healing well, no need to continue my stay at the hospital. Dom will initial my discharge forms, relieving you of any liability.”

  “My love, you are stubborn like bull I will do as you ask. But I insist I check on you every night.”

  Mitchelli kissed her hands, “Suzanne, please remember what I told you to do if anyone questions my stay in the hospital. I want you to stay with your sister for the next week, do as I say.”

  “Yes, my love, I shall obey. I know how much you care for me.” Stazi looked at MacJames. “Ms., you make sure he rest, I know that is an impossible task; he has a head like a bull. He could open his sutures and bleed to death.”

  Stazi left the room with Coarseni close behind. Mitchelli motioned MacJames to his bed side.

  “Peter, you sat up as if you had no pain, I was shocked.”

  “Angela, I wanted to scream. I thought I ripped the stitches. Get the hell over here, grab those bandages and gauss on that tray. I want you to help me pull these tr
acks out of my arm.”

  “Are you crazy? Wait for the nurse--we don’t know what we’re doing!”

  He looked at her quizzically, raising one eyebrow. “Angela, that is the second time in five minutes I’ve been asked if I was crazy. Are you taking lessons from Dr. Stazi’s bedside manner? I may pass out before the nurse can get these frickin’ things out of my arms. Now pull the tape off the tracks, start with my left arm.”

  There were two five-inch long pieces of medical tape holding the tracks used for intravenous drugs in his left arm.

  MacJames started to pull on the tape, gradually pulling out the hairs on his arm. The hairs stretched, pulling the skin at the root of the follicle up a quarter inch. He winced in pain, his face perspiring. “My God,” he exhaled through clenched teeth, “are you’re torturing me! Just rip it off quickly, like when you’re getting your legs waxed.”