Vigilante Angels Trilogy

by Billy DeCarlo

  “You know I’m not,” Moses replied. “You sure this guy is dumb enough to come to a place like this alone?”

  “Yup. I checked him out. He’s pretty fucking stupid. Masks down.”

  They both pulled ski masks down over their faces. “We look fucking ridiculous,” Moses said.

  It was silent except for the thrum of the idling vehicle outside, and Tommy spoke again.

  “Don’t forget. When Davis out there opens the door to push him in, close your eyes until you hear the door shut behind him. Our eyes are already adjusted to the dark; his won’t be. It’ll be over quick, and then we’re out of here. Follow our plan. It’s only a warning for him.”

  “I don’t know about this. What if he recognizes our voices?”

  “He never heard us talk. It’ll be okay.” Tommy checked his watch, knocked on the door and asked the narc outside if he was ready.

  “All set,” came the muffled reply.

  The men waited until the silence was broken by the sound of an approaching vehicle.

  “Show-time. Buckle up,” Tommy said.

  Davis knocked twice from the outside, the agreed-upon signal. It was the car and driver they were expecting.

  The sounds of muffled tough talk came from both men outside.

  “Davis is good,” Tommy whispered. “He’ll convince Vela the good deal he’s been promised is just inside this door.”

  Tommy psyched himself up to get past the pangs of nausea that wracked his stomach in waves. He remembered his poor mother, and what she’d had to endure at the hands of his father when he came home from drinking after his shift. He recalled his father’s fighting advice.

  When you’re in it, you gotta be an animal, kid. There’s no playing fair in a street fight. It’s you or the other guy. Unleash the animal within you, and be vicious. The moment he fears you, you’ve won.

  Tommy and Moses pressed themselves flat against the wall, on opposite sides of the door. Both closed their eyes, and their pulses raced. Finally, the door creaked open. Davis shoved Vela through and pulled it shut. Moses threw the deadbolt into place.

  Tommy moved like a cat. The adrenaline surging through his body erased the sickness and made him feel twenty years younger. He loved it—missed its feel from his days on the street. It was the elixir of survival and strength, and he hadn’t felt it in a long time.

  He jabbed his Taser into Vela’s ribs while he was still off-balance, and commanded, “On the ground. On the ground, now.”

  The static clicking and blue-lightning bursts of the Taser added to the kinetic electricity in the room. Vela’s limbs twitched and jerked.

  Moses quickly swept the man’s legs out from under him. The two worked in concert to roll him onto his stomach, zip-tying his feet and arms behind him.

  Buster fought, to no avail. Realizing he was beat, he started begging for mercy. “What’s up? What’s up, amigos? Rodriguez send you? Tell that motherfucker I’ll pay him next week when my bitch gets paid. I swear. Please.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Tommy said. He sat on Vela’s back, crushing his bound hands, then grabbed his long greasy hair and yanked his head backward. Dropping the Taser, he pulled his 9mm semi from an underarm holster beneath his jacket and pushed it to the back of the man’s head.

  “Easy. Easy,” Moses said, holding his hands out, palms up, to Tommy.

  Vela squirmed. “Don’t. Don’t fucking kill me! I got a kid, I got an old lady. They need me!”

  Tommy yanked Vela’s head back further and cocked the hammer of the weapon.

  “Don’t break his damn neck,” Moses said anxiously.

  “No! What do you want? Anything!”

  Tommy leaned down next to Vela’s ear and spoke in a harsh, menacing tone. “Listen up, Buster. Your old lady don’t need you. You need her. You’re a useless piece of shit, and lucky to have her. You ever fucking touch her again, we’re gonna find you and finish the job.”

  “What the fuck, I didn’t do nothing to her. Who sent you, her brother?” Vela asked.

  “Never mind that. Maybe I’ll empty this whole motherfucking clip into your greasy head. And then she’ll be the luckiest old lady in the world. Your kid too. This is your last warning, bitch. We’re gonna go now, but if you leave this building in the next ten minutes, you’ll be even sorrier.”

  Tommy tightened his grip on the man’s hair and slammed his forehead into the concrete floor. It made a sickening thud, and Moses turned away. Tommy holstered his gun and pulled a large combat knife from a sheath on his ankle.

  “Jesus. Fucking Rambo, ease up,” Moses said.

  Tommy kicked Vela, who didn’t move. “He’s out cold. Let’s get out of here.” Tommy cut the ties on the man’s legs but left his hands bound.

  “At least make sure he’s fucking breathing!”

  Tommy knelt down, pulled the man’s head back slightly, and listened. Blood dripped from Vela’s forehead into a growing, glistening pool on the floor. “He’s fine. Just sleeping. It won’t take him long to get loose when he wakes up.”

  The men exited the building, shielding their eyes from the late afternoon light. Davis was already gone. Moses struggled to pull his mask and tight leather gloves off. “I feel like OJ,” he said.

  “Keep them on until we’re out of here,” Tommy said. He moved to Vela’s car and stabbed a tire. It hissed and sang as the vehicle sagged down. He looked inside the car and found Vela’s cell phone sitting in the cup holder. He reached inside for it, then threw it to the ground and pierced it with the knife. “Let’s go.”

  They walked toward the back of the building, where they’d stashed their car. Halfway there, Moses buckled over and vomited. “Fucking chemo. Fuck. That’s DNA there, what do we do with it?”

  Tommy laughed and kicked dirt over it. The smell reached his nostrils and sent him over the top, and he could no longer hold back. He knelt in the dirt and puked, then rose and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “He isn’t going to call anything in. He’s got warrants.”

  “Damn, then why not have him picked up instead of doing all this?”

  “Because this is more fun, and more effective. The system doesn’t care about petty trash like him, and he knows it. He’d be right back out and probably beat Carmen twice as bad.”

  The first half of the drive was silent. Tommy was spent from the effort of it, far more from the treatments than his age.

  “So, what the fuck was that with the gun? What happened to sticking with the plan?” Moses asked.

  “It was insurance, in case he got away from us. Anyway, I didn’t have the clip in.”

  “Chief, that shit was excessive. I don’t remember anything about busting his head either.”

  “Yeah, sorry. The adrenaline flows and something takes me over. Anyway, there is no excessive with these scumbags. I didn’t want him trying anything when we were leaving. He needed a shot, to see what it’s like on the other side of abuse.”

  “You sure about that Davis cat? Where’s he at?”

  “I told him to go as soon as Vela was inside. He’s solid. He owes me a lot of favors, and I’ve got leverage over him. It’s good to have people who owe you, and it’s smart to have dirt on them, too.”

  9 Therapy

  Bobby sat back in the plush leather chair, rested his head, and closed his eyes. It was something that Dr. Eastwood had him do in order to answer questions without becoming too emotionally involved, as a sort of out-of-body experience. I hate it here, but I love this chair...

  “It’s been a while,” he heard Dr. Eastwood drone. “How have you been, Bobby?”

  “About the same, I guess. My old man is sick, though. Cancer.”

  “How does that make you feel?”

  “It’s funny—for most of my life, I wished he would get cancer, or get hit by a car. Now I feel guilty and pretty fucking sad about it. The guy was like the Great Santini—ever see that movie? I thought he was invincible.”

  While the doctor took notes and shuffled papers,
he thought about his childhood. His parents in drunken arguments, him thinking he could fix everything by trying to please them any way he could, including living in denial about who he really was. He thought about being picked on in school all of those years for being overweight, effeminate, and the son of a tough cop. He’d watched his classmates fall happily in love, dance at school parties, hold hands in the hallways, be free and happy, and he couldn’t have any of it himself.

  “There’s been a lot in the news regarding this priest lately. Do you want to talk about that yet, Bobby?”

  Every time the therapist had brought it up in the past, he’d danced around the subject. The walls were thick for him, and he had a lot of practice at home living in denial that anything had ever happened. But he’d gotten tired of it, tired of not making progress in eliminating his demons, of not being open about who he was, and ultimately of not being happy. I’m getting older; I can’t live with this bottled up inside forever. He listened to the soothing sound of the wall clock. Tick. Tick. Tick. Each beat seemed an eternity, and he used the time to summon his courage.

  “Bobby?”

  “Yeah, sorry. Okay, I can talk about it. What do you want to know? Let’s get it over with.”

  “Start at the beginning.”

  Bobby ran the clock back in his mind, trying to bring forward things long since buried in the fog. He looked at the door and considered bolting.

  “He picked me out. He saw that I was an awkward gay kid without any friends. I was alone most of the time at the church. My parents made me go but rarely went with me. I think my old man thought that somehow Jesus would convert me. Isn’t that ironic?

  “Anyway, the priest favored me, made me feel accepted, made me want to go there and hang around. Made me an altar boy. He was funny, made me laugh, and acted like a real dad, or a big brother.”

  “Did he acknowledge the conflict with the church’s view on homosexuality?”

  “Yeah, he said it was okay. Said that really we were all God’s children, and he was bisexual—that he loved everyone and it was okay to love no matter how you did it. That’s how it started; he said he was going to help me discover who I was, teach me stuff I would need to know for my boyfriend someday.”

  “You never got to confide in anyone, not your mom?”

  “No. I tried a few times, hinted to my mom. She shut it down immediately. I couldn’t talk to any of the counselors or teachers at the school. My old man knew everyone, and I was too scared of him finding out.

  “It was just little stuff at first... It was surreal for me, as a kid. I didn’t know what to do. I felt trapped, and he knew it.”

  “Where are you at with it now? How do you feel, aside from your other challenges?”

  “With the priest? I’ve wanted to kill him my whole life. I became a cop because of him, really, not the pressure from my dad. I figured maybe I’d get my chance someday to put him behind bars. But I moved on, in my own denial, and never really went there. I don’t like being a cop in the first place. Plus, I always worried that if I busted him, or someone else like him, things would come out about me. I remember him taking pictures. I didn’t want to be embarrassed by it. Now that he’s in the news, I’m terrified and stressed the fuck out every day that those things will come to light.”

  “Let’s move past that, Bobby. What about coming out? That’s one thing you do have control over. It would be hard at first, but you’d be happier in the long run.”

  “It’s tough to imagine, especially with my old man. He’s changing, though, so...maybe. I’ll give it some thought.”

  He sat up and looked at the door again. This time he got up and went through it.

  10 Remission

  Tommy watched through the hospital window until he saw the busted-up Ford pull into the parking lot. As he anticipated, Carmen had driven herself, rather than Buster dropping her off. The donut tire had been installed. She probably changed that herself.

  He continued to watch as she emerged from the patchwork-painted junker.

  She stood next to it, in stark contrast to the dull vehicle. The bright morning sun lit up her white uniform so that it seemed to glow, and the smudged hospital window blurred her into an angel. She looked pure and perfect, in a parking lot full of decaying vehicles owned by dying people.

  She smoothed her dress and bent down to check her makeup in the side-view mirror. He gazed at her as she bent forward, and he wished for a telescope. That wouldn’t go over well in here. He watched her until she walked out of view into the hospital entrance, and he was happy she appeared to be unmolested.

  The door opened, and Dr. Mason entered the exam room. “How’s it hanging, Borata?” he asked.

  Tommy turned from the window and climbed up to sit on the strip of white paper on the exam bench. “I guess that’s what I’m here to find out,” he said. “How did the pictures come out?”

  The doctor flipped through images on his computer screen, leaning forward occasionally for a closer look.

  Tommy waited, staring out the window. Wanting to be free, wanting to be young again, wanting to be well, wanting to be anywhere but in a doctor’s office.

  Dr. Mason rose and went through the usual exam procedure: heart rate, breathe deep, breathe normal. He lifted Tommy’s hands to examine his nails and noted the scrapes, scratches, and bruises. “What the hell have you been up to, Tommy?” he asked.

  “Eh, me and Moses, you know, the black dude in treatment with me, we ah...we were working on his car, trying to get it running again.”

  The doctor raised an eyebrow over the top of his charts and grunted his skepticism. “Anyway. Seems like things have gone well with your treatment,” Mason said. “The chemo and trial drugs have destroyed the tumors. There is no cure, you know that. But I think you’re going to be okay for a while.”

  Tommy turned in disbelief. “No chemo today?”

  “No, let’s let you recover some, give it a little time, and check on things in a month or so.”

  “You sure?” Tommy asked.

  “Yeah, I know,” the doctor said. “You’re feeling a bit happy, but a lot guilty? Afraid to accept it? That’s all normal. Enjoy it. Go with it, Tommy. I’ve already notified the unit to cancel your treatment today.”

  Tommy went to the cafeteria and sat down with a fresh cup of coffee. It was good news, but he’d looked forward to his session with the others, and especially Nurse Carmen. He was happy about the prognosis but worried about telling Moses and how it might affect the bond between the two of them. When the time arrived for his treatment, he decided to go upstairs anyway.

  “You’re canceled, and you came anyway due to your love and desire for me, Chief?” Nurse Beulah asked as he entered the pod area.

  “Nah, and nah,” Tommy responded. “I’m gonna hang out with the gang. What the hell else do I have to do?”

  “Suit yourself, just don’t get everyone riled up.”

  Tommy sat back in his usual pod, closed his eyes, and let the good news soak in. He drifted between consciousness and sleep, letting the familiar sounds of the place wash over him.

  “You’re losing your touch, letting a black man sneak up on you like this.”

  Tommy jumped in his seat, startled to see Moses looming over him and wearing a satisfied smile. Eddie and Helen were there also, getting prepped for treatment by Beulah. Helen’s husband Herb was by her side, as always.

  “Yeah, kind of lost in thought I guess. Have a seat, partner.” Tommy pulled the bag he’d been carrying around out from under his seat. “Here Mos, I brought you something.”

  Moses took the bag and removed a retro-style blue New York Rangers hat with red and white trim. “Aw, damn Chief, it ain’t even Christmas, and here you come with presents,” he said. “Rangers, huh? Black people gonna think I was Army Special Forces or something.”

  Tommy laughed. “Right. Not that kind of Rangers, but most people know the difference. You’re a tough guy either way. Lace up the skates, they could use an
enforcer this year.”

  Moses fished a nail clipper from his pocket and took his time removing the tags. He curved the bill of the hat with his big hands, then finally, he placed it on his head. “Damn, fitted cap, and it’s just right. How’d you know my size?”

  “I told the guy it was for someone with the biggest damn head I ever saw,” Tommy said. The group all laughed together.

  He nudged Moses while turning up the pod television. “Here’s our guy again, let’s see what’s new.”

  A newscaster was beginning an update on the priest story. “...the priest, now identified as Father Damien Tarat, has confessed to the crimes and is being held...”

  “Yes!” Tommy exclaimed, punching Moses on the arm. “Now he’ll get his.”

  “Damn right,” Moses replied. “One thing they don’t like in the joint is child molesters. He’s in for a rough ride.”

  Tommy thought about the good news from the doctor, and now from the newscaster. “It’s a damn good day...” and didn’t finish his thought as he looked around at the others.

  “It’s okay, brother,” Moses said, picking up on his friend’s regret. “We have to enjoy every little victory.”

  Nurse Carmen came into the room. “How’s it going, kid?” Tommy asked her, changing the subject in the room.

  “Oh, alright,” she answered. “Everything is a bit crazy at home. Buster was out looking for work the other day and saw some woman getting mugged. He jumped into the middle and got all beat up. He’s a damn mess, so I’m taking care of him now too. Then he gets a flat tire on top of everything. No good deed goes unpunished!”

  Tommy and Moses looked at each other over the top of her back as she bent down to adjust the infusion stand, and shook their heads in disgust.

  “Damn,” Moses said. “A real hero.”