Gideon

by Grant Rosenberg

  It all made sense now. Unfortunately, it was too late. Kelly had killed the wrong man, which in turn had set the balls in motion. Now she was paying for her actions. Paying for her father’s actions.

  “Jessica…,” she said through the tears. Anthony looked at her, a question in his eyes. “My sister. Please…”

  Anthony backed up, drawing the knife away from Kelly’s throat. He looked offended. “Revenge. Gideon. You. Then it’s over. No more killing.”

  Kelly nodded, weeping harder. “Thank you.”

  She’d just thanked this man for only killing her. The sheer absurdity of it gave her strength. She stopped crying, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She wasn’t ready to die, but there was no way out of this.

  It was her time.

  When Kelly opened her eyes, Anthony Moretti was gone.

  77

  Pete walked the two miles from the restaurant to the clinic. He wanted time to think. As a bonus, he’d see if there were any new murals in Balmy Alley. Ever since he was a child he’d been fascinated by the colorful works of the myriad street artists in the Mission.

  Pete was midway through the alley when three bangers stepped out in front of him. They were boasting the scarlet of the Norteños and, as such, felt they owned this territory. In a sense, they did.

  It was rare for Pete to be confronted on the street. It was inevitable in an urban area, although most street hoods didn’t target men unless they were desperate. Women and older people were much easier prey.

  Pete remained calm. He knew that the moment he pulled back his coat to reveal the gold shield clipped to his belt, the would-be muggers would turn and sprint in the other direction.

  Not this time.

  The three bangers stood their ground, as did Pete. He glanced back over his shoulder to see two more approaching from behind.

  Pete held his hands away from his body and announced in a loud, clear voice, “SFPD.”

  Another Norteño stepped out from a darkened doorway. Pete recognized him as Spider. As he walked toward Pete, his posse slid in behind him.

  “Word is you been looking for me, Inspector.”

  “I was. I wanted to talk to you about the Sureños that were killed.”

  “Some Scraps got smoked? Don’t know anything about that.”

  “Really? Joker and Sad Boy?”

  “Oh, yeah. I heard something about Joker, but I don’t know anybody named Sad Boy.” He turned to his posse. “Any of you know a culero named Sad Boy?” Unsurprisingly, they all shook their heads and muttered “no”. Spider turned back to Pete. “Never heard of him.”

  “It turns out they were both killed by Nano Rojas.”

  Spider smiled, nodding his head. “Cool. We love it when the sewer rats clean up their own shit. Saves us from having to take out the trash, you know?” The bangers exchanged high-fives.

  Pete tried a little fishing expedition. “You know anything about a house over by Garfield Square getting shot up last week? We’ve got a witness who saw a black Impala drive away from the scene. Isn’t that what you drive?”

  Spider shook his head. “Behind the times, homes. Used to roll in an Impala, but now I got an ’08 Suburban. Gray. Sweet rims. Sometime I’ll give you a ride. Lots of room in the back to stretch out.”

  “Do what you can to quiet things down. I’d hate to see another kid like Diego catch a bullet for no reason.”

  “You know us. We stay chill, take care of our own business. Not looking for a beef.”

  “Good. Take care, Spider.”

  The gang parted, creating a lane for Pete, who continued down the alley. “You take care, Inspector,” Spider called after him, parroting his words. “And take care of Dr Kelly. There’s some bad shit going down out there.”

  Pete stopped. When he turned back, his face was flushed with anger. “What do you mean by that?” he asked, his voice rising.

  Spider shook his head. “Easy. Dr Kelly is familia. We look out for her. You should, too.”

  “Are you talking about the break-in last week?”

  “Just sayin’ there are some Blancos in the Mission lookin’ to stir up shit. Gotta be, what’s the word…? ‘Vigilant’.”

  “Thanks for the heads up, Spider. I’ll be vigilant.”

  Pete had no idea what Spider was talking about, but when he turned back around, he hastened his pace, anxious to get to the clinic.

  Kelly heard Anthony before she saw him. He was grunting with effort. She tried to remain calm, but the sounds coming from the darkness sent chills down her spine. The suspense of not knowing was worse than knowing. That was, until she smelled the gasoline.

  When Kelly finally caught sight of Anthony, she watched in horror as he splashed fuel on the walls and the workbenches. Gas puddled on the concrete floor, reflecting tiny shimmering rainbows of color.

  “Don’t do this. Not fire,” Kelly pleaded.

  Anthony went on with his work like he didn’t hear a thing.

  “Please! You’ll burn down the whole block!”

  “Fire is very… cleansing.”

  “You’re not like your cousin or your brother. You’re not cruel.” Kelly’s pleading shifted into panic. “You want revenge, fine. Kill me. Use your knife!”

  Anthony shook his head. There was an untold sadness about him, as if he really didn’t want to do this, but felt compelled to carry out the deed. “Death brings pain. Pain to the dying, but more to the living. Yours will be quick compared to those you leave behind.”

  Kelly was desperate to keep him talking. She knew Pete had been waiting for her. By now he’d be worried and would go to look for her. She had no idea how he’d find her… she didn’t even know where she was. But the longer she could put off the inevitable, the greater the chance that someone may come to her aid.

  “Anthony. Listen to me. It doesn’t have to be like this!”

  “Wrong. This is how it ends.”

  Anthony upended the can and poured the remainder of the gas over his head, drenching himself in fuel. Kelly was stunned.

  With gasoline running down his face, he reached into his pocket and took out a Zippo. With the other hand he pulled the Strider out of his belt.

  “NO! Anthony, don’t do it!”

  Anthony had played out this scenario in his mind a dozen times. Nothing was going to stop him.

  He flipped open the lighter, thumbed the wheel and a bright yellow flame leapt to life. Kelly screamed louder than she knew was possible, but to no avail.

  Anthony dropped the lighter at his feet and an instant later drew the razor-edge across his throat. There was an infinitesimal moment where his eyes met Kelly’s, then he collapsed to the floor, engulfed by fire.

  Kelly screamed again, this time even louder.

  But the result was the same.

  There was no one to hear her cry.

  78

  The clinic was dark, the doors locked. Pete went around the back and saw that Kelly’s car was there. She must’ve walked to the restaurant while he was dealing with Spider and his boys in Balmy Alley.

  Pete tried her cell number. It went directly to voicemail. She probably forgot to turn her phone back on after leaving work. He pulled up Alexa’s number and tried her. Same result… directly to voicemail. Of course; her phone would be turned off while she was in the restaurant.

  Pete thought about calling the restaurant, but he was being paranoid. He imagined Kelly sitting at the table with Alexa and Deanna, having a glass of wine. It brought a smile to his face. The night wasn’t exactly going as planned, but he was still confident it would end with Kelly saying “yes”.

  “NO!” she screamed. “Oh, my God, NO!”

  She was in hell. The fire was quickly spreading to the rest of the garage and the stench of burning flesh was searing the inside of her nose.

  Kelly might very well die here tonight, but she wasn’t going down without a fight. As the smoke rose, she looked around. There had to be a way out of this. She desperately yanked a
nd twisted her hands, trying to free them from the rope bindings, but they held fast.

  The smoke got heavier, making it difficult to breathe. She’d probably succumb to smoke inhalation before the flames reached her, but that was little solace. Kelly’s eyes watered and her throat was parched. She fought the urge to cough, knowing if she did, she’d suck scorching, noxious air into her lungs.

  Maybe she should just give up. Accept the reality that there was no way out. No one was coming to her rescue. Why fight it? She’d brought this on and she was getting what she deserved. Wasn’t she?

  And then she saw Anthony’s knife lying on the floor just outside the pyre that fed upon his gas-soaked corpse. She had an idea. It was a longshot, but she had to do something.

  Kelly started bucking, trying to rock the chair. If she could manage to make the chair fall sideways at the correct angle, there was a chance, however remote, that she could get hold of the knife, then possibly inch the blade up through the rope. It wasn’t a great idea. It wasn’t even a good idea, but it was all she had. Especially since the flames were rising higher and the smoke was getting thicker.

  She swayed her body back and forth in a controlled rocking motion and the chair legs gradually began to lift off the floor. Kelly felt a tiny sense of hope. She was now confident that she could get the chair to topple over, but would it fall in the right direction?

  If it fell away from the knife, she was finished.

  The rocking momentum increased. Unfortunately, so did the fire in the garage. Time was running out. Kelly was treading a thin line between increasing the intensity of her efforts and making certain that when the chair gave way to gravity, it fell to her right, in the direction of the knife.

  The flames hit a cache of oily rags in the corner and flared up in a fiery ball of intense heat.

  Kelly had no choice but to give it all she had. One more body thrust and the chair would tip over toward the knife. As she threw her weight to the right, the chair went along with her and was on the verge of toppling over, when gravity betrayed her. She seemed to hang in midair, leaning over toward the knife, when the chair swung back in the other direction.

  “NO!”

  Her momentum carried her to her left, and suddenly she was falling. There was nothing she could do as the concrete floor rushed up to meet her. The chair smashed into the floor, leaving Kelly ten feet from the knife. It might as well have been a mile.

  It was over.

  From this angle, Kelly saw a thin trail of gasoline inches from her face. Once it caught fire, the flames would scream toward her like a blazing freight train.

  She instinctively bucked, inching the chair so at the very least her face wouldn’t be in line with the rivulet of fuel. A jolt of pain shot up her arm when her hand hit something rough sticking straight up from the floor. She blinked several times to clear her eyes of tears and saw that she’d hit a rusty bolt that was permanently fixed in the concrete. A remainder of some heavy equipment that had been screwed into the floor.

  Using every ounce of strength she had left, she began sliding her bound wrist up and down, scraping the rope against the bolt. The screw threads slowly ate away at the rope. It was working! But would she have enough time?

  Kelly redoubled her efforts, a newfound hope driving her into a manic state of determination.

  The muscles in Kelly’s arm and wrist felt like lead and cried out for the brain to send more oxygen. But oxygen was growing scarce as the smoke in the garage got thicker. Kelly could no longer see through the dense cloud of toxic carbon, tar and oil particles. She limited herself to tiny sips of air, hoping she could free her hand before she was overcome.

  She was getting seriously light-headed. It would only be another minute before the smoke rendered her unconscious. Kelly used one final burst of adrenaline, feverishly rubbing the rope up and down. Up and down. Up and… then the bolt scraped the skin off the outside of her wrist! Her hand was free!

  Kelly operated sheerly out of instinct as she used her free hand to inch herself forward. It took near superhuman strength to drag herself and the heavy chair across the floor until the Strider was finally within reach.

  The blade was scalding hot and her hand instantly blistered, but she never even felt the pain. She was too focused on the Herculean effort needed to cut herself free.

  The knife was as sharp as she’d imagined, and within moments she had sliced through the ropes. As she struggled to her feet, the trail of gasoline caught fire and the flames raced toward her.

  Kelly blindly fled as fire licked at her heels. She stumbled through the smoke, and blessed her luck as she found the door, ripped it open and staggered into the frigid night.

  The onrush of fresh air fed the hungry fire and a moment later something in the garage exploded. The incendiary blast shattered the front window of the dry cleaner’s across the street, set off a cacophony of car alarms, and filled the evening sky with a shower of glowing embers.

  By the time the embers floated to the ground, Kelly was halfway down the street, limping away from the scene as quickly as her burned and battered body could take her.

  79

  When Pete reentered the restaurant, he spotted Alexa and Deanna sipping cappuccinos. Kelly wasn’t at the table, nor was she sitting in their usual booth.

  According to Alexa, Kelly never showed up. She’d assumed that Pete had met her at the clinic and the two of them had gone to one of their places for the night. Pete tried Kelly’s cell once again, and once again she didn’t pick up.

  He stood in silence, wondering what he should do now. Kelly had been acting strangely the past couple of weeks, and hadn’t accounted for her occasional absences. In fact, when pressed, she insisted he didn’t have to worry about her, and she didn’t need to check in with him every moment of every day. She’d assured him with a smile that she wasn’t cheating on him. Sometimes she needed time to herself. She hoped he understood.

  He did, but this was different. This was setting off distant alarms. And just then, a fire truck sped past the café, lights flashing and horn blaring. The alarms were no longer distant. Logic told Pete that a fire in the city, even one this close by, had nothing to do with Kelly. But then, why did he have a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach?

  Pete sprinted out the door and ran down the sidewalk, chasing after the fire truck like a Dalmatian.

  He arrived at the fire ten minutes later. He badged the uniformed cops who were setting up a perimeter. The lead firefighters were already drenching the burning building with water.

  Pete found out the business had been an auto repair shop that closed down last year. Fortunately, the shops on either side stood empty, as did the stores across the street (with the exception of the dry cleaner’s, which would need a new plate-glass window).

  The fire was still raging, and given the potential of combustible materials, there was the threat of more flare-ups, so no one had access inside the garage. It would be at least an hour before the fire crew could work its way inside to conduct a search. One thing was for certain: there’d be no survivors.

  On that depressing note, Pete had no recourse except to wait and pray that the crew didn’t find the charred remains of the woman he loved.

  Finally, he was given the go-ahead to enter the repair shop. Meanwhile, across town, Kelly was sitting in the corner of her shower, water cascading over her, washing blood, soot and tears down the drain.

  After she’d gotten home, she’d stripped off her clothing and inspected her scrapes, cuts, bruises and burns. Once she determined that everything was relatively superficial (except for the angry burn across her right palm where she’d grabbed the searing-hot knife blade), the enormity of what she’d just gone through overwhelmed her. She relived the evening in fast-forward from the moment of waking up in the chair to stumbling out into the night. The images were etched into her brain, especially Anthony lighting himself on fire and slitting his throat.

  That would haunt her nightmares for years to c
ome.

  Kelly didn’t remember walking into the shower, or, for that matter, turning on the water. All she could comprehend right now was that she was alive. Her past was behind her and her future was riddled with uncertainty.

  There was enough left of the incinerated corpse to determine it wasn’t Kelly. The police forensics lab and the fire department arson investigator would do their best to identify the body and to fill in the blanks as to what happened, but for now Pete had the answer he needed.

  He checked his watch. It was past midnight. Time flew when you were having a night from hell. He had so many questions: Where was Kelly? Did she forget their date or did she purposely blow him off? Why was her car at the clinic? Why wasn’t she answering her phone?

  As Pete watched the fire crew put out the last of the hot spots in the garage, he couldn’t shake the thought that destiny had cruelly delivered him to this spot to reveal a physical manifestation of his relationship with Kelly. It was at times hot, at times smoldering, and perhaps now, in ashes.

  Pete checked his phone one last time. No calls.