by Drew Blank
“The other night you told me Whitney’s kid was asking about Randy, right?” He asked rhetorically.
“Yeah. Probably stupid, but I figure it couldn’t hurt to tell you,” I said nonchalantly.
“Well, I wish I had followed your hunch,” he admitted.
“Dude, it wasn’t a hunch. I was just passing on some info,” I said innocently. “Why? What happened?”
“Well, have you ever heard of the Blueboy?” Dom asked, building me up for a tale I was already familiar with.
“Nope. No idea who you are talking about.” I tried to not go overboard on the playing dumb.
“Well, he was a power player in Cross’ drug scene. He was the supplier for Mouse and a bunch of other big dealers in town,” Dom began.
“Was?” I asked, pointing out Dom’s choice to use the past tense.
“Well, no one ever knew who the guy was. Apparently he had a taste for the theatrics, so even the people that worked with him on a regular basis had no clue who they were really working with,” he continued.
“And he’s dead now?” I asked.
“As of last night, yeah. We found him dead at the Carrier Steel building,” he explained.
“So what does he have to do with the mayor’s kid?” I asked, trying to piece together how much Dom knew.
“Mathers Whitney Jr. was the Blueboy,” Dom revealed.
“Junior’s dead?” I asked with faked surprise.
“Yeah. He was pummeled into nothing. What we could make out, he had his face painted half blue and half
yellow,” he told me.
“Painted?” Again playing dumb. “Why?”
“Like I said. Theatrics. I guess he fancied himself some sort of super-villain. I dunno,” Dom said, genuinely puzzled regarding Carver’s motives. “We’ve got a costumed vigilante on one side and some crazy painted bad guy on the other. If this is a sign of things to come, I’m out. The cops never bode well in comic books,” he chuckled while digging his hands into his pockets.
“So, he was beaten to death?” I tried to keep Dom on track.
“No. That’s the crazy thing. He was brutally beaten, but it was a bullet to the head that killed him. And not just any bullet. Forensics said from the entry wound they can already tell it wasn’t a close shot. They are theorizing he took a shot from a sniper rifle of some sort. Whatever it was, it was long range,” Dom explained. “That’s all they can guess, but a bullet hasn’t been retrieved yet.”
“You’re kidding me.” I looked at Dom in false awe as I pushed the button to the elevator.
“Nope. He did have a gun on him. Take a guess as to what murders that gun is linked to.”
“The drug house murders?” I said, pretty confident I wasn’t going to be wrong.
“Exactly. Also, not shockingly, the same gun that killed Randy and his family.” Dom looked down with sadness at the mention of it. “So, it looks like we have our man.”
“Well that’s great!” I said through forced exuberance. “I wish I’d have pushed harder on the Whitney link. That totally coulda’ been your collar. That is what they call it, right? Collar?”
“Yeah. Collar,” Dom told me as we stepped into the elevator. “But it wouldn’t have done any good.”
“Why’s that?” I asked with genuine curiosity.
“Because it has already all been swept under the rug. The kid’s gonna get a prince’s funeral. All cases regarding Blueboy or the murders of the past few days have been dropped. The mayor made it clear to just let the media blame The Freak for all the homicides.” Dom was again disheartened with the system he worked so hard to protect. “As far as the city of Cross is concerned, Blueboy never existed.” He shook his head.
“So, any idea who beat Whitney up before he got shot?” I knew Dom’s head was swimming with theories that would all go unanswered.
“I’m sure you know who I think it was.” The light on his face dimmed while he spoke as the elevator doors closed on us.
“It certainly would be a poetic ending, don’t you think?” I said to Dom as the irony of Carver’s death hit me.
“How do you mean?” He asked.
“Freak beats a buncha guys senseless and Blueboy shoots them all dead. Then The Freak beats Carver senseless and someone else shoots him dead. Poetic.”
“Yeah. I guess you’re right,” Dom agreed as the elevator began to move.
“Wait a second.” Dom immediately looked puzzled. “Who’s Carver?”
Oh fuck.
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© 2009 Drew Blank
All rights reserved. Published 2009.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: 1-4392-5933-X