(2012) The Key to Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  She threw the wall switch illuminating the living room with the light from a table lamp in front of the picture window across the room and headed for the kitchen. She made the right hand turn into the kitchen, turned on the light and found the cordless phone on the table where she had left it that morning. Concerned with the battery strength after it spent the entire day out of the recharger, she quickly dialed Marc’s number. Holding the phone to her left ear, she wiggled out of her jacket while listening to it ring. After the fourth ring she was becoming disappointed with the expectation that his answering machine was about to pick up when she suddenly heard his voice.

  “Hi, it’s me,” she said.

  “What’s up?” he replied.

  “Well, there’s been something kind of bugging me and I didn’t get a chance to talk to you about it at dinner.”

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Well,” she said with hesitation, “it’s probably nothing and it’s too late to care, but I can’t help wondering about it.”

  “Spit it out, Madeline,” he said with pleasant impatience.

  “The quarters. You know, the ones the cops found in the locker with those clothes Waschke planted. How the hell did those quarters with Carl’s prints on them get in that coin box?”

  “Waschke must’ve planted them too,” Marc replied.

  “Where’d he get them? Carl didn’t have three quarters on him when he was arrested and if he had found them in Carl’s apartment there were other cops there. Someone would’ve noticed,” she said as she paced over to the kitchen counter, her jacket held lightly in her right hand, her back to the doorway.

  After a long moment of silence between them, Marc finally said, “I don’t know. I’m not sure where they came from, but you’re right about one thing, it doesn’t really matter anymore.”

  “I know,” she sighed. “It’s just one of those little loose end kinda things that’s been bugging me. That and the shit I found out at Stillwater today. Maybe we’ll find out from Waschke’s trial.”

  “Maybe. Look Maddy, it’s been a long day. Get some sleep and I’ll talk to you tomorrow. We’ll see about getting paid. We earned it.”

  “Yeah,” she laughed softly. “We sure did.”

  They said their goodbyes and she stood at the counter, staring blankly at the phone still in her hand, chewing on her lower lip. She unconsciously shrugged her shoulders and, as she was placing the phone in its receptacle, she felt more than saw or heard, a presence in the room an instant before her hair was jerked back and her head snapped upward.

  “Hello, Madeline,” she heard a familiar voice whisper directly into her right ear. She could feel the bumps of the serrated knife blade against her throat as her eyes stared with unblinking terror at the kitchen ceiling, her body frozen and her breathing suspended.

  For the first three or four seconds her mind became an uncomprehending void, her senses having totally abandoned her as her subconscious prepared for death. When her consciousness began to reappear she felt herself being pushed up against the counter by the force of the man as he leaned heavily against her. Her heart was pounding wildly in her chest and she felt herself starting to breathe again as she heard the voice whisper, “God, you don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.”

  She could feel the tip of his nose touching the inside of her ear and heard him inhale, a hissing sound coming from his mouth as the air passed over clenched teeth while he continued to hold her head back, his fingers entwined in her hair, the knife pressed against her throat. She could feel his erection pressing against her right hip, but now her breathing was starting to normalize, her heart slowing and her eyes refocusing.

  A wave of revulsion passed through her when she felt his tongue pass over the side of her face and across her ear. The grip on her hair loosened for an instant and her head moved slightly away as the pressure decreased. He jerked her head again and she let out a short yelp from the pain it caused.

  “What do you want, Carl?” she was able to say in a whispered croak.

  “The same thing you do,” he whispered back into her ear. “The same thing you’ve wanted since we first met. The same thing you all want but most men are afraid to give it to you. A little rough and tough.”

  “No, Carl. That’s not true,” she replied, surprising herself with how calm she was as her mind began to work again. “Put the knife down and we’ll do it nice. I’ll show you. You’re right. I’ve wanted you from the start, but not like this. You don’t need the knife.”

  “This,” he said holding the blade before her eyes, turning it over and over. “No. I can’t put my friend away,” he said softly in an eerie, almost childlike voice. He jerked her around to face him, the two of them staring into each other’s eyes and he said in his normal voice, “Don’t jerk me around, Maddy. This is the same knife I did that whore with. Our beloved Governor’s daughter. See the tip?” he asked, still using the same normal inflection as he held the point of the knife an inch from her left eye. “I bent the tip on the inside of her fuckin’ skull so don’t try fuckin’ me around here. Okay bitch? Play ball and maybe you live. Anymore bullshit and it’s lights out. Understand?”

  Maddy nodded her head slightly, barely half an inch to avoid poking herself in the eye. Carl moved the knife back under her chin and pressed the point against her skin hard enough to prick the surface and draw a drop of blood. Still firmly holding her head back with the grip on her hair, he leaned his head close enough to her to touch the tip of her nose with his and slowly and calmly said, “I said, do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she whispered flatly without the fear in her voice or her eyes. “I understand.”

  “Very good, Madeline,” Carl said moving his head back, smiling at her. “Now, let’s go out in the living room and have a little fun. At least, it’ll be fun for me. You,” he shrugged, “well, we’ll see.”

  Carl took a half-step back and, with the knife point still under her chin and his grip on her hair, began pushing her toward the open kitchen entry way. He forced her down the short hallway between the kitchen and bedroom out into the living room. He roughly began to guide her to the open space between the television against the wall to their left and the couch to their right. Just as his pace began to quicken Maddy abruptly stopped which caused Carl to run into her from behind and, just as he did, the knife moved a couple of inches away from the underside of her chin.

  In that instant, her right hand shot up and her fingers wrapped themselves around the wrist of his right hand, the one holding the knife. She drove the sharpened, half-inch nail of her thumb into the soft flesh of the underside of his wrist, digging it in as deeply as she could, breaking the skin, drawing blood and pinching a nerve that caused him to cry out in pain.

  Keeping her grip on the wrist of the hand with the knife now pointed right at her face, she immediately reached back and down between his legs, grabbed his testicles and squeezed with all of the strength her fear and anger could give. Carl began to scream and, as she continued to dig her thumbnail into his wrist, she pulled down on his scrotum, let her legs buckle straight down and as her knees hit the floor she rolled her shoulders forward and flipped him over her back onto the floor.

  Carl rolled two or three times across the carpeting, his right hand still clutching the knife, his left thrust into his groin to ease the wave of fire that washed up from his balls into his chest.

  Maddy remained motionless, kneeling head down on the floor for two or three seconds while her mind began to grasp what her reflexes had just accomplished. Overcoming his pain, Carl managed to struggle to his knees, then to his feet, glaring at Maddy, his face a mask of rage and pain. As she sprang to her feet, he continued scowling at her, his right hand holding the knife, waving it slowly back and forth, his left hand still massaging his sore and swollen testicles.

  “You fuckin’ whore,” he snarled. “I’m gonna make you sorry you were ever born.”

  “Give it up, Carl,” she heard herself calmly
say. “It’s over. You either put the knife down now, or I’m gonna take it away from you and cut that teeny little dick of yours off and shove it down your throat.”

  Carl moved toward her, slowly, still moving the knife around in a small circle, his left hand now extended in front of him as if for balance as he slightly crouched. Maddy eyed him over as she cautiously moved backwards, watching the knife while looking for an opening. He backed her up toward the entryway door and then, when he got close enough, he lunged forward and swiped at her from right to left and upward with the knife. Dipping her right shoulder, Maddy dodged to her right to avoid the blade as it slashed by, pivoted on her right foot and snapped a sharp kick with her left leg, driving her left heel into his midsection.

  Quicker than she believed he was, as Maddy’s foot began to make contact with him, Carl’s right hand flashed back just missing her throat but slashing her across the left shoulder. The blade sliced through her blouse and opened a jagged four inch gash a half inch deep through her skin. Not enough to incapacitate her but enough to put her on her knees.

  The power of her expertly planted foot drove Carl to the floor and almost knocked the wind out of him. Years of prison time and jail food, with little to do but exercise, had made him lean and a lot stronger than his slender frame showed. He was back on his feet with catlike quickness and, furious now with the brazenness shown by this woman, he made a headlong charge at her, just as she was pulling herself up.

  Maddy saw him coming just in time to grab his right wrist and avoid the knife thrust as he slammed into her. They crashed against the small table along the wall by the entryway door. Carl, with a crazed look in his eyes, tried desperately to turn the knife toward her. His left hand came up, grabbed her throat and slammed her head against the wall. She was powerless to prevent this, all of her strength being used with her two hands struggling to keep the knife from slicing into her beautiful face. She stared at the knifepoint, the wound in her shoulder ebbing her strength away as the point crept closer and closer to her eye.

  Carl kept pushing and choking with his left hand, literally lifting her off the floor, crushing her against the wall and choking off her air. He knew he was winning and it would soon be over, but in the back of his mind, he also knew that the darkness within him, the insatiable hole, would still be empty if it ended too quickly. Just as Maddy slipped up onto the table, his grasp on her throat eased and, as it did, she released her right hand, hammered it against the hand at her throat, knocked it aside and bobbed her head to the right as the knife flashed past her ear to stick into the wallboard behind her.

  As Carl began to pull the knife from the wall, while still sitting on the table, Maddy raised her legs up and under him until her knees touched her chin, planted both feet on his chest and, as his left fist smashed into the side of her face, shoved him back with all of the strength she had left.

  Carl flew backward, his arms flailing, still clutching the knife as he sprawled across the living room floor. With the force of the push, Maddy and the table crashed to the floor, her purse spilling open inches from her face. She lay on her right side, stunned and gasping for air, her head pounding from being hammered against the wall, her eyes watered, blurry and unfocused from the pain. The gash across her shoulder was pouring blood and she could feel her strength rapidly expire. Maddy forced her mind to snap back and, without lifting her head, she turned her eyes to see her attacker slowly rising from the floor. Carl staggered a bit and moved from in front of the lamp, the light causing a bright reflection that caught the attention of her eyes from an object peeking out from the opening of her purse.

  Realizing what it was, she reached over to it with all of her remaining strength, grabbed the shiny bright metal object and in one quick motion, rolled onto her back, thumbed off the safety, pointed it toward the madman and squeezed off a shot. In the confines of the apartment, the gun roared like a cannon, the explosion ringing her ears. Maddy had expected to see Carl go down, but instead, the crash of the lamp and the sudden darkness made her realize she had missed him completely and had blown up her table lamp. She hesitated for just a moment, the room now only partially illuminated by the spill from the overhead kitchen light, aimed and fired again. This time the small bullet found its mark as Carl staggered back and went down on one knee, gripping his left side.

  She struggled to her feet, still pointing the gun at Carl. They stayed this way, two wounded, desperate animals staring at each other, the only sound in the room their heavy breathing. Carl, his eyes glazed and unfocused, the blood oozing from between his fingers as he held the wound, snarled, “You fuckin’ bitch. You fuckin’ shot me, goddammnit.”

  “And, I’ll do it again if you don’t put the knife down, now!” she roared.

  He hesitated for a moment, the small caliber bullet causing less pain than he would have believed. Then, the monster within him reared up and, as he started to rise, he howled like the wounded animal he was and came at her. Maddy calmly pointed the gun directly at his forehead, squeezed the trigger and heard nothing. The blast she expected didn’t come because, as small caliber automatics are sometimes prone to do, it had failed to eject the last shell.

  Carl came on howling his wounded animal scream, expecting, almost hoping, that the lights would go out forever. Instead, he felt a sharp pain on the top of his head as the gun bounced off it when Maddy, in blind desperation, threw it at him. The blow staggered and stopped him, causing a gash to open on his scalp and blood to come gushing from the wound. He stumbled backward, still holding the gunshot wound with his left hand and saw Maddy come charging toward him.

  When the gun failed to fire her mind snapped completely. She rifled the useless weapon at him and, with her eyes on fire with hate, her teeth bared like an animal’s fangs, her hands held out before her like claws, she threw herself at him. She saw the knife flash toward her and, her mind, still coherent enough to send out reflexive messages, ordered her to turn slightly and avoid it, grabbed at the wrist with her left hand while she slammed her clawlike right hand into his face and eyes. Maddy managed to slow the knife thrust but not stop it completely and as the point entered her right side just above the hip, she felt her fingernails digging into the softness of his eyeballs.

  Carl screamed from the pain as the fire erupted in his brain from the slicing of her fingernails into his eyes and face. Maddy, her hatred, anger and fear fed by the attack, jerked his hand backward extracting the bent tipped blade from her flesh. Carl released his grip on the knife and tried to grab his ravaged face with both hands but she wouldn’t release his wrist to allow it. Without realizing what she was doing, she twisted his arm down, spun him around and pinned the arm behind his back. She grabbed a handful of hair at the back of his head and with her last ounce of strength, screamed, “GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!” and drove him across the room head first through the bay window overlooking LaSalle Avenue.

  As the glass exploded outward, a blast of cold, wet wind swept through the room, the rain hitting Maddy in the face. She stood at the open window, numbly staring down at the sight of Carl’s body hurtling silently downward. She watched, her mind working in slow motion, his arms flapping as if attempting flight, the world frozen in place. Just Maddy staring as the rain poured in while Carl slowly sailed the eight stories down to land on his face on the roof of a three day old Lexus coupe, its owner, a wayward husband, having parked it in a most inconvenient place and time.

  The noise from the explosion as Carl hit the car reached her eight floors up, causing her eyes to blink and her mind to start working. Maddy blinked several more times before her consciousness took over again. She gasped at the sight of Carl, the blood from his splattered head seeping out and pooling in the rain on the car’s crushed roof. She looked herself over, her right hand clutching at the wound in her side, her left hand holding her shoulder. She turned away from the window and began to stagger toward the kitchen and the telephone. She took three or four difficult, shaky steps, the room began to spin and s
he went down.

  EIGHTY-NINE

  Marc’s sleeping mind heard the first three rings of the telephone but it wasn’t until the fourth ring started that his eyes snapped open.

  “Yeah,” he groggily said just before it would have gone off for a fifth time.

  “Marc? It’s Tony,” he heard the gruff voice say. “I’m down at Hennepin County Medical Center. Get yer ass down here.”

  Less than thirty minutes later, Marc heard the soft bell sound as his elevator approached the floor with the room number Carvelli had given him. He stepped through the doors before they had barely opened wide enough to permit it and saw his P.I. friend pacing in the hall a few doors down.

  “How is she?” he asked.

  “Like I told ya she’s gonna be okay. She got cut up a bit and lost a lot of blood. She’s gonna need some rest, but she’ll be fine,” Tony answered as a very young, white coated woman doctor emerged from her room.

  It was then that Marc first noticed the police officers. A male and female plain clothes, obviously detectives, and two uniforms. Marc and Tony stepped over to the doctor and Marc asked, “How is she? Can we see her?”

  “Are you the Marc she asked for?” the doctor asked.

  “Yes I am. How is she?” he asked again, less patiently.

  “She’ll be fine. She’s pretty beat up and she’s gonna need rest, but she’ll be fine in no time. You can see her but make it short. And this gentleman,” she said pointing her pen at Tony “can go in too.”