Dead Man Walking

by David Carter

  Hampton scribbled it down on a piece of paper. “Well whoever this Kaja Letch is, they seem to have access to military schedules and to our highly encrypted security systems. Which leads to me to think we’re dealing with quite the big fish.”

  “You mean someone within the country’s governing body?”

  “It’s something we have to consider, yes.”

  “Good Lord, Steve. One of our own committing treason?”

  “It’s just a theory, sir. I need some hard evidence to prove my theory.”

  “All right. Keep digging. I’ll see what I can do on my end. And keep this to yourself. You don’t want to go arousing suspicion or pointing fingers at the wrong people—or the right people for that matter. Let’s just agree to keep this under our hats for now.”

  “Yes, sir.” Hampton clicked off the call.

  “Kaja Letch,” Hampton said to himself. He got up and made his way to the staff room. He was in desperate need of a break and some caffeine. He sat down at the table with a coffee and unfolded the newspaper to the puzzles section. “Let’s see now: sudoku, crossword, or anagrams,” he muttered. He took a sip of his coffee and decided on the anagrams puzzle. The first word was simple: SANTA. “Too easy,” he scoffed, and wrote the word: SATAN in the box below. The second word he cracked just as easily, writing SPINE into the box beneath the word PINES. That was when his mind exploded with a thought: Kaja Letch!

  He quickly scribbled the letters out on the newspaper. KAJA LETCH. He crossed off each letter as he deciphered the anagram below: THE JACKAL.

  Hampton frantically dialled the commissioner from his cell phone. “Yes, Steve?” he answered curtly.

  “Kaja Letch! It’s an anagram!” He couldn’t spit the words out fast enough.

  The commissioner took a moment to deduce what Hampton saying. “Good Lord, you’re right!” he exclaimed. “But what does that mean?”

  “It’s so obvious that you didn’t consider it! The Jackal is the passcode to the file!”

  “Hold the line, Steve.”

  Hampton nervously waited while the commissioner got hold of his technician. Finally, he heard the commissioner’s voice. “Sorry, Steve, as brilliant as it was clever, it didn’t work. That wasn’t the passcode. But in a spot of good news, my technician has narrowed it down: he’s certain it’s a six-digit passcode.”

  Hampton felt deflated. He wanted justice for the likes of Private Thompson, Papa Bear, Lemon, and for the commissioner himself. He left the staff room and meandered back to his office. Surely the anagram couldn’t be a coincidence? It has to be relevant. No, it is relevant.

  “You still there, Steve?” the commissioner asked.

  “Yes, sir, just returning to my desk.”

  “All right, keep up the good work. We’re gonna find this guy, all right? Don’t go giving up on me.”

  “I won’t stop till he’s behind bars,” he replied defiantly.

  Hampton walked into his office to find the transcript of Private Thompson’s interview on his desk. That was when his evergreen mind put all the pieces together. “Maggie,” he blurted into the phone.

  “Maggie? Who is God’s name is that?” the commissioner replied, puzzled.

  “Maggie! It’s the passcode you’re looking for!”

  “What makes you so certain this time?”

  Hampton smiled to himself. “I told you that interviewing the drivers would be of some benefit! The Jackal let slip the name of his firearm, Maggie, while conversing with one of the drivers. It’s most certainly a name of significance to him.”

  “And it’s six letters,” the commissioner added before putting him on hold for the second time.

  Two minutes later the commissioner’s voice sounded like harp-playing angels as he said, “You’re a bloody genius, Steve Hampton. We’re in.”

  Chapter 51

  Blaze left Mickey hanging by his neck and excited his cell. He’d dressed himself in Mickey’s uniform, and using his security card, left the solitary wing in search of some particular items he needed. It was time to make good on his promises: Beppo Adams and Joey Jackson had to die.

  Blaze cautiously navigated a series of corridors and took a lift three storeys down to ground level. He scanned his way through another security door and found himself inside the kitchen supplies room. His eyes flashed with excitement as he spotted what he was looking for.

  Blaze peered through the kitchen door. The coast was clear. Cooking duties for the evening meal wouldn’t commence for at least another hour. Blaze had planned everything out to the minute. It was imperative he didn’t waste a second. He heaved a ten-litre container of canola oil onto the kitchen bench, then poured it into a large stainless steel stewing pot. He turned on one of the large burners and let the oil simmer.

  Blaze had always had a fascination with fire. What he didn’t know about combustion and flash points wasn’t worth knowing. What he especially loved about cooking oil, was that once it had reached its flame point, there was no stopping it.

  Small wisps of smoke started rising from the pot. The oil had almost reached its flash point. He put his theory to the test. He found a wooden spoon and lit the end on the gas burner, then lowered the burning handle into the pot. Flames erupted from the bubbling brew as the emissions ignited. A look of sadistic joy spread across his face.

  Blaze replaced the pot lid. The flames dissipated. He lifted the lid straight off again. No flames. “Just a little longer,” he muttered.

  He was waiting for the oil to reach its auto-ignition point: when he could place the lid over the top of the pot, causing the flames to dissipate, and once the lid was removed again, they would reignite on their own accord. “Safety first,” he snickered.

  Moments later the oil reached the target temperature and his plan was in motion. He wheeled a trolley over to the stove top and carefully lowered the pot onto the flatbed. He then filled a second pot with cold water and added it to the trolley.

  Blaze checked the corridor outside of the kitchen, and when he was sure it was all clear, headed towards to the elevator.

  The beauty of the The Tombs’ solitary wing was that Mickey was in sole charge. Inmates had no chance of getting in or out of their cells, therefore the warden used a minimum number of guards to watch over them. It couldn’t have played into Blaze’s hands any better. It was Mickey’s own perverted fault that Blaze had the freedom to roam the wing and do whatever he pleased.

  He knocked on Joey’s cell door.

  “What the fuck do you want, Mickey,” Joey growled from inside.

  “Ooh, I’ve got a special surprise for you,” Blaze cooed.

  Joey had never given in to the twisted ways of Sick Mick. He’d even slugged him in the face on multiple occasions when he’d tried to get freaky with him. He stood in the doorway, waiting for Mickey to open the door so he could deal with him the second it opened. He heard the lock turn; the door flung open. He was startled to see Blaze standing there. Blaze violently kicked the pot with smoking-hot oil into the cell. The oil ignited on cue as it intertwined with the cell’s oxygen supply, engulfing Joey’s legs and torso; his shirt and long pants caught alight. “What are you doing!” he shrieked.

  “Scarface sends his regards,” Blaze replied, then picked up the second pot filled with cold water and flung it into the cell. The fireball was impressive. Adding water to the mix intensified the flames tenfold. Blaze slammed the cell door shut and locked it from the outside. Joey was toast. All the other inmates in solitary peered out their slots, listening to the agonising screams from Joey’s cell. Blaze returned to his cell and retrieved his shiv before making a beeline for Beppo’s cell. This is for you, Jane, he thought as clouds of anger shrouded his eyes.

  Beppo stood back from his cell door, startled by the sudden intrusion. “What’s going on, Mickey–” He stopped as he realised the man in the uniform wasn’t Mickey at all. He seemed familiar somehow, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen him before.

  “Nothing to wor
ry about, Beppo, just an inmate who got what was coming to him.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Scarface asked a favour of me. Cost him a lot of money, too. But what is done is done. Joey Jackson is dead.”

  “You killed Joey?” His face beamed. “Scarface will be pleased. He’s had a hit out on him ever since the day he–” He stopped himself short. Beppo’s memory caught up with him. A look of anger appeared on his face. “You! You’re the fucker who broke into my house and had me arrested. I’ll fucking kill you!”

  Beppo charged at Blaze, who was ready for him in case he did, indeed, recognise him. Blaze swiped at him with the shiv, collecting him on the chin. It cut deep into the skin, all the way down to the bone. Beppo wiped his face as if it were nothing more than a scratch; blood smeared over his skin and shirt. “Been taking any piano lessons lately?” Blaze mocked him. “I hear you play quite the tune with your face.”

  Blaze had the smirk wiped from his mouth as Beppo clobbered him across the jaw. He threw him down on the floor and let fly another brutal punch to his face. Blaze copped the first two straight to his cheekbone, but saw the third one coming. He flung his head to one side and Beppo’s knuckles crunched into the solid concrete floor. He cried out as Blaze seized the opportunity and pulled Beppo’s face down and headbutted his nose. The crunching of his nasal bone was sickening.

  Beppo reached for his face while Blaze wriggled free and lined up a kick to his mouth.

  WHACK!

  Beppo’s mouth filled with fragments of jagged teeth. He dropped to the floor as Blaze kicked his legs out from under him.

  “You know, Beppo,” Blaze said, a little out of breath. “It’s one thing to hit a man.” He ruthlessly kicked Beppo in the ribs.

  Beppo convulsed and groaned.

  “But it’s another thing to hit a lady, or to treat her like a fucking slave,” Blaze continued.

  “She’s my goddamn wife. She’ll do what she’s fucking told.” He spat out shards of discoloured teeth.

  WHACK!

  Beppo felt the full force of Blaze’s disappointment ripple through his ribcage a second time.

  “And it’s completely something else to treat your son like he doesn’t fucking exist.”

  WHACK!

  Beppo folded in two. Then turned his head to face Blaze. “What the fuck would you know? I doubt a mongrel like you even has a kid!”

  Blaze crouched down and held Beppo by the chin. He stared deep into his eyes as blood seeped over his hand from the nasty gash. “What would I know? I was that fucking kid—with a father who didn’t give a flying fuck about me!” He grabbed the back of Beppo’s head and crushed it down into the floor in anger.

  Beppo lay dazed for a moment, then regained consciousness and futilely tried to crab away.

  Blaze chuckled in amusement. “You’re not so fucking strong now, are you? It must be killing you that you’re not in control. But that’s how you made Jane feel for all those years. And you’re getting what’s coming to you.” He heaved Beppo up and slammed him against the wall. His head clanged against the bar in the window. Blaze took the shiv and repeatedly stabbed Beppo’s stomach over and over until he was out of breath. Blood spurted in all directions; a crimson mural laced the walls as Blaze slashed as his face and arms. The sight of Beppo’s weeping flesh was horrific.

  Beppo slowly slid to the floor as his life drained away.

  Blaze remembered the story Jane had told him of how Beppo had almost drowned her. Now was the time for payback. He’d wanted to end it like this so badly. He heaved as he lifted Beppo’s devastated body until his head was firmly entrenched deep inside the foul smelling toilet bowl. He didn’t offer any last words. He held his head down and flushed the toilet over and over until he knew it was over. When he was done, Blaze pissed on Beppo’s lifeless body for his own gratification.

  Beppo the wife-beater was no more. Blaze had accomplished his goal; his reason for breathing. Killing Joey Jackson was merely his ace-in-the-hole should his attempt to escape The Tombs fail. He couldn’t have the brotherhood suspecting him of treason. Now there was only one thing standing in his way: it was time to take care of Cyrus.

  Chapter 52

  Blaze unlocked Cyrus’ cell and confidently walked inside.

  Cyrus nearly choked on his own spit seeing Blaze in Mickey’s uniform. “I don’t know how you did it, Blaze, but you’re either crazy or a fucking genius.”

  “Nearly cost me my virginity to Sick Mick.” He grinned.

  Cyrus got up from his bunk. He punched Blaze square in the face, and roughly pinned him against the wall.

  “Whoa! What the fuck was that for?” Blaze shouted.

  “Why did you kill Beppo?” he challenged him. “I heard you two fighting. He said you were the one who got him arrested!”

  Blaze calmed himself. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  The veins on Cyrus’ head bulged. “Don’t play fucking innocent with me. You’re up to something fishy, I can smell it!” He thrust Blaze’s head against the concrete wall.

  Blaze played it cool. He knew Cyrus would wonder why he’d killed his brother. “All right, all right, you got me,” Blaze replied. He looked directly into Cyrus’ eyes. “Beppo’s a traitor. He sold you out to the feds. He wanted to make sure you never made parole.”

  Cyrus was taken aback. “That’s ridiculous. Beppo is as loyal as anyone to the brotherhood. There’s no way he’d turn. And besides, why would they let him go to prison if he was working for them?”

  Blaze grinned. “Why do you think I had him arrested?”

  Cyrus roughly let him go. “So you admit it: it was you who smashed his head in with a piano lid like it was a fucking coconut?”

  Blaze didn’t hesitate. “Of course it was me. Not only was he abusing his wife, but he’s a goddamn turncoat. The FBI couldn’t ignore the spousal abuse charges; I made sure the local PD handled it so that he at least saw the inside of a prison cell. And if you get Sharkie to make one phone call you’ll discover his wife is currently living the high life in an all-expenses-paid-for luxury apartment in the city. Now how do you think she could afford that?”

  Cyrus was confused. “So why didn’t you kill him when you had the chance on the outside?”

  Blaze sighed. “It was a tricky: his wife begged me to spare him; her kid was in the room. So I made a snap decision: send the prick inside so I could take care of him during my reign in The Tombs. I figured I could really fuck him up in here.”

  “I see. But that doesn’t explain how you knew he was working for the feds.”

  “And you make a fair point, but it will all make sense if you let me explain.’

  Cyrus nodded.

  Blaze paused a moment before he said, “After I first joined the brotherhood, I saw Beppo talking to a guy in a fancy suit in some piece-of-shit bar in downtown Manhattan where I hang out a fair bit. It was sheer, random luck. They had no idea of my presence.”

  “And what were they talking about?”

  “Let’s just say he was giving away one of the brotherhood’s biggest-kept secrets.”

  “Such as?”

  Blaze looked left and right, then eyeballed Cyrus as he whispered, “He told them what you’re up to in the Adirondacks.”

  Cyrus looked like he’d seen a ghost. “He told them what? How could he possibly have known about that!”

  “It seems your secret isn’t as safe as you thought.”

  “What exactly did he tell them?”

  “From what I overheard he gave them the location to your base of operations and where to find all the dead bodies,” he bluffed.

  Cyrus scoffed. “That’s impossible. Only I and one other person possess that information.”

  “Who?”

  “The one person in the brotherhood I trust without question: Scarface.”

  “Then it seems either Scarface has been talking or you have an external leak. Beppo said your base of operations was located somewh
ere in the Hudson George Wilderness.”

  Cyrus bellowed with laugher. “That fool has no idea what he’s talking about. He’s about a hundred miles off the true location!”

  Blaze laughed with him. “Then I guess you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  Cyrus calmed himself. “I’m sorry for punching you,” he said. “Right now I’d rate you as one of the most loyal members of the brotherhood I’ve ever known. After everything you’ve put yourself through, how could I not trust your word?” He outstretched his hand and gently placed it on Blaze’s shoulder. “But what you say isn’t entirely true. I’m always on edge when it comes to our brothers from the Adirondacks. I’ve always been wary that one day the secret would get out before our final preparations had been made and that someone would sell us out. And it seems Beppo somehow caught wind of it.” He paused. “Just how much do you know about our operation?”

  “Only what I’ve told you.”

  “Then maybe it’s time you learned more. It’s not like you’re going anywhere. But this information stays between us, or I’ll personally guarantee you won’t utter another word to a living soul. Agreed?”

  “I’m all ears.”

  Cyrus explained how Scarface was being groomed to be the new leader of the brotherhood nation, and what it was they actually did. He revealed that if his life was forfeited, plans were in place for Scarface to take sole command of the brotherhood and their secret chapter of members in the Adirondacks. Cyrus trusted Blaze that much after the riot he’d caused, and for the deaths of Beppo and Joey. Blaze’s forked tongue had won him over.

  Blaze was stunned by the twisted tale. He was even more desperate to get out of The Tombs to inform Doyle of their plans, even if that son-of-a-bitch had left him for dead. He would deal with Doyle’s misconduct at a later date. Right now he had to execute the remainder of his plan. He just hoped luck was on his side. He had to escape at all cost.

  “I better get back to my cell,” Blaze said. “Might as well get comfy after the stunt I pulled today. Three more murders on my hands should set me up in here for life.”