by Robert Cea
“I understand, Patty, but remember, there’s no such thing as a straight eight, not in Brooklyn there’s not. Your words, not mine, paisan.”
He didn’t like the comment, I could see the anger bubbling; he slightly cocked his head toward me, trying to decide if he should swing or elbow. I could see him unconsciously hold on to his hand, trying to suppress his first instinct, which was probably both, swing and elbow.
“What are you now, all of a sudden some fuckin’ homo village poet, a word wizard? You got some stupid shit playin’ off in your head I don’t know about? What are we into playin’ word games, tryin’ out for ‘Wheel of… fuckin’ Jeopardy?” He stared at me long and hard; hangover or not, he was going to knock the fuck out of me before he allowed me to fuck myself, but more important, he did not want me to play into IAB’s rat trap. They had monster woodies for me and anyone associated with me. They were just waiting for me to fuck up. He drove on, hard.
“Listen to me, buddy boy, they think they got you on a body, you understand? We’re on the fuckin’ cusp here, you get it! Do not fuck around or I swear to Jesus on the cross I’ll bust your hole out right here, right now.”
I turned to him with absolute distaste because the words and all the miserable drama were caught in my throat, so much so that I wanted to vomit.
“I fuckin’ hear ya, Patty.”
“You’re goddamn right you do, and I would definitely chill with the attitude, as you can see I’m in no mood. Capeesh?”
I turned to him, my voice ringing with sarcasm.
“Always the wise guy, right to the bitter end, huh?”
He was confused, bordering on a Chernobyl-type meltdown. He decided against the explosion; better to lose the battle than get raped in the war.
His famous last words: “Fuck you.”
I thought about that for a second, his last words, much like the last words General Custer must’ve uttered when he rode into the valley of death: “Where in the fuck did all those Indians come from?” Or the mayor of Hiroshima’s last words: “What the fuck was that loud noise?” Patty’s weren’t so eloquent, but they spoke volumes. “Fuck you.” Two words could not be truer, I was fucked!
He slid back down into the dirty velour seat trying to relieve a cramp above his ass; he turned away from me.
“Today is a straight eight, partner, straight fuckin’ eight.”
Patty had made his point severely and quite clearly, he and only he would be the one who would air me the fuck out had I any ideas of actually playing policeman again. But I did not care, I wanted to die, and I wanted to take the Monster with me, and Patty just wasn’t convincing enough for me to listen to his logic.
I quickly moved back to the hunt. They’re all out today. Excellent. I immediately spotted two Dominican boys. Right off the banana plantation, or ganja field, or cocaine lab, or whatever the fuck they’re selling these days in the good old DR. They tightened up the second they saw me. This told me that yeah, they’re dirty, but they were scared to death. These little mopes were carriers. Couple of ounces at the most, probably pink Peruvian girl. They quickly turned from my car, walking northbound into the packed square of projects. They figured to get lost among the other dealers and buyers, but I knew exactly where they were. They truly must’ve been imported from some ghetto in the DR within the last week, because they were not up for the game. Not mine anyway. They’d be some other mildly sharp cop’s overtime relatively soon. They were definitely not in my playbook, lucky for them. Today was their day. Today’s gonna be a good day!
I scanned every person who moved through the projects; not one man, woman, or child went unnoticed. Then suddenly another ray of light poked through the quick-moving clouds, it seemed to shine on my Chevy. I squinted across the field of projects. Could it be? My hands started to tremble with anxiety. The man; big, black, very muscular. Face so familiar, so fucking familiar. Was that the bell I just heard, start of the game? Could it be? I prayed. C’mon, motherfucker, be the one.
My eyes pierced through him like a diamond-cut bullet. I wasn’t made yet, so it was tough to gauge the level of play. This was as tight as it was going to get; the current running through my body told me this and it never betrayed me. It was like a hit of pure Bolivian marching powder. I searched quickly through the one-on-one photos, scanning each picture, mind racing like a NASA DSL. Murder? Which one and where? Gun was used, yes… no. C’mon, hustler, who the fuck are you? Where you from, player? Murder…yes … pictures? Posters …?Torture? RAPE! MONSTER! The lights were suddenly all turned on. My eyes opened wide, my desperation turning wild with hunger. My heart was beating out of my chest, eyes dilating. I had my mission; it lay right in front of me. This was it… the end!
I flipped open the car door and jumped out like a cokedup jackal, didn’t bother shutting it or looking back when my radio tumbled to the ground. I didn’t care because this wasn’t about backup, this was between me, the Monster, and God.
The jolt of my movement woke poor Patty. He must’ve been confused, thinking, Where the fuck is Rob? Had to be his first thought; then he must’ve caught me moving like a bullet train cutting a wide path through the filthy atrium. I heard him scream, “Fuck, you motherfucking cunt.” He slammed his big fist into the dashboard. I was so sure he’d rather shit out a hubcap than do what he had to do now, and that was run, run to save his crazy partner’s life.
Junkies and perps froze when they saw me coming, though they were not on my list today. I only had eyes for the big, bad-ass black man. I was flying, moving at the speed of light. My feet felt light under me, skating almost. It felt like my first chase, my virgin voyage. I was reborn. I knew this was it. As I ran toward him, everything seemed to fall back into order, the way it was years before. I was laser guided and locked on a man who was as bad as they came. It was just the two of us, with no need for test-i-lying because this was as legit as it could get. I was a cop again, and as fleeting as that moment was, it truly was the last time I was going to feel that way. This I knew, and I wanted to feel all of it, every rush of air, every odor, every scream that erupted from the air around me, and to this very day, I can still feel all of it, everything that occurred in those last few conscious moments. The irony was not lost on me that I felt so alive, yet deep inside I knew I was heading right for my death, or at least that’s where I hoped I was heading. I truly felt that if I did accomplish what I had set out to do the moment I laid eyes on the Monster, well, then everything that I had gone through would have been worth something. I would trade my life to squash his, and goddamn, I was cool with that. It was all going to be A-OK, because I’m okay, you’re okay.
The Monster was moving, looking for a score, couple of jumbos to rekindle his deadly inner inferno. He laughed as all the dealers and street mopes stepped aside. Did they feel his awesome presence, did they feel his power? I wondered, did he get wood behind his incredible aura, did they all know Monster was back on the prowl, looking to do his nasty work, the work he loved almost as much as the man now closing in on him at the speed of light had once loved his work?
The Monster saw the fear in their faces; they were scared, but not of him and his tremendous stature. Something was happening, something else. The Monster turned and saw me. Moving stealthily, smart bomb zeroing in and he was the target. I was going to get in deep, I was going to chew through barbed wire to get me some payback, and here I motherfucking come!
I saw him back away and stumble over an ankle-high chain divider. He scrambled to his feet and rocketed into the building door with such force it was torn cleanly from its rusted hinge. He moved with ease in the maze, as if he had been here before. Maybe watching for another victim to prey on. Well, now he was the prey. He hit the stairway taking three or four steps at a time, moving with incredible speed. He glanced over his shoulder. I wondered if he’d recognized the crazed cop who was chasing him.
I heard him moving above; the thuds on the steps sounded like muffled cannon shots. He must have been scared. H
ow’s it feel, you motherfucking rapist, you twist, you scumbag? Can you feel me coming to get you, to finish our business; today is our day, tree jumper!
I hit the stairway. He’s going to the roof, good. I jumped on the elevator and pressed the button to the top floor. Tactically not a smart move, but my gut instinct told me he wasn’t thinking coherently. He would keep moving up till he hit daylight, then cross to another building’s stairway from there and work his way down. I just had to catch him before he realized he’d have to jump thirty feet across and seven stories high to do so; these projects are made of fireproof stone, there are no fire escapes, and knowing how desperate he was, that would be his move, hell, it would be my move if I were him.
The elevator creaked shut, then started up with a bang. My every sense was heightened. That bang from the elevator’s pulley sounded like an explosion, the urine in the corner smelled like it came from a pack of ghetto dogs. I even thought I could smell the alcohol from the old Magic Markered graffiti that covered the metal walls. The excitement was roaring through my body, my hands were sweaty and shaking.
“This is it, motherfucker, this is it. I got you and you got me.” I whispered this to myself; it sounded gentle, as if I were talking to Mia before we made love. “Focus, Rob, here and now.”
She didn’t belong here, I did not want to taint what was left of those beautiful memories we had once shared. I shook off her image again, as hard as it was. I had to focus and finish what had been started too long ago.
I dropped down into a combat position inside the metal box. I figured he might second-guess me and would be waiting outside the door; at least that was what I hoped.
The elevator slammed to a halt, the door slid slowly open, into darkness. My heart was pounding so hard I felt my pistol bounce with each beat. I was slowly able to decipher my surroundings—a torn, bloody mattress was jammed into the stairway; sinewy condoms, crack vials, more graffiti, used Tampons, bloody hypodermics, a dead cat, all littered the landing. Underneath me the broken glass sounded like a symphony. He must’ve shattered the fluorescent light. Old trick, scumbag, but I’m glad to know you’re here. I stopped for a moment, trying to adjust to the darkness. Is he close, right next to me, is this getting the sick fuck off? I listened for breath, an alien heartbeat, anything. Then I heard the whoosh of air, but it was too late to react. A sudden and intense pain exploded from my wrist, I hit the ghetto carpet hard and heard my Glock clattering down the stairs. Then another whoosh and I felt the same explosion of pain above my nose. Blood started to fill my eyes though I was just able to see the big silhouette emerging from the darkness, standing above me like an animal unsure of its kill. He calmly raised the two-by-four and brought it down with such ferocity, even I was impressed. I moved just enough not to take its full impact. Still, it felt like I’d been hit with a rocketpropelled grenade.
Scumbag tossed the wood and charged for the roof. Instinctively, I grabbed for his leg but swiped at nothing. A blast of light cut through the darkness and I saw him leap out onto the roof like the uncaged animal he was. I got to my feet, slid back down hard, in either his blood or the blood that now ran in rivulets down my forehead. I stumbled up the stairs. My head felt like it was in a hydraulic vice. I knew I had a concussion or worse—a great start to the magic that I anticipated. Though the blood was dripping down my neck and my wrist was starting to swell, oddly enough I still felt strong. I felt as though I was home watching a movie that I had seen before, one whose ending I knew. All I could do was laugh, and that fucked-up, twisted, sinister laugh told me I was at the right place and in the right time in my life for it to be the end. I was out-of-control insane. On a suicidal quest.
I shouldered the door with everything I had; I figured I’d push him back if he was out there waiting. When I burst out onto the tar, he was nowhere in sight. The summer sun was dropping behind the Statue of Liberty. I spun in every direction on the roof, C’mon, player, where you at? It’s time to tail up, I thought. I heard those sirens in the distance. I could only imagine that Patty was somewhere out there, charging from building to building, out of time and just about out of moves. What good would a million strapped cops do without clear knowledge of my whereabouts?
I moved cautiously along the edge of the roof. I’d seen that trick before. Hang down, let go, keep your arms outstretched, and pray you catch the window ledge on the next floor. If not, it’s one ballsy yet messy way to go.
He wasn’t there. All that was there was the sound of the street traffic way below, oblivious to the destiny that was about to unfold seven stories above. The sirens were getting close. If I could hear them, so could scumbag. I had to move quickly. Then… click. I felt the unmistakable cold piece of metal stab the back of my head gently. If you’ve never experienced a loaded gun placed at the base of your medulla, the feeling is very similar to driving down an icy mountain in the dark at ninety, with no brakes. You know you’re eventually going to stop, but with really extreme and fucked-up results. All I could do was close my eyes and finally say hello to the Monster, look in his eyes and see my prey. I turned slowly; I did not want to raise scumbag up, not yet anyhow.
My man was exactly as I remembered him. Big face, pockmarked, with thin lips to match his thin evil eyes. He had horrific body odor. Rapists generally aren’t out to impress the Bettys—pain and damage, that’s what they’re all about. His hand was open to the bone, probably from smashing out the light in the hallway; the gun was covered in blood. He was shaking starting to hyperventilate. Maybe it was the come down from all the ghetto girl, maybe it was his insanity. In any case, I noticed and I fucking liked the vibe the Monster was emitting. This was going to be good.
“I don’t wanna do you… Could’a did yous in the st-ststairs … Ain’t gonna do the man, but I is wa-walkin’ the fuck outta here.”
His words slurred together childishly, the speech impediment making him all the more scary to me, making this the perfect endgame. He was shivering, his hand was trembling. I waited, then I smiled at him. He looked confused as I shook my head no.
“C’mon, brother, don’t pee in my kicks now. We got history, you and me, you know this, yes?” I waited for him to respond, but I’m sure he didn’t know what the fuck to make of me. Had I been of sound mind when we had this little rooftop cluster fuck, I’d probably be dead because there is no way in America I’d stare at that two-inch biscuit for that long a time without jumping off that roof. No, the end is always about redemption.
“Now don’t bitch out on me. You and me are gonna get up in each other’s guts. Tell me I’m wrong. Show me how you can man up, like you did to all those women.”
He did not know what to make of me. The white cop who was clearly out of his mind and definitely outgunned at the moment. He tilted his head toward me.
“You on the wr-wr-wrong end a da’ p-p-pipe…You ain’t s’posed to be smokin’, yo’… But this nigga’ will smoke ya punk ass l-like the chump you is.”
I stepped a little closer. I needed to knock him off balance even further, confuse him into dropping his guard ever so slightly, and then we’d go.
“Nigga, did you just say chump, or jump, ’cause I don’t understand a fuckin’ thing you’re saying. What is it, you suck a lot of cocks, that why you talk like a little bitch with braces? You do suck some dick, this I know, so you must be sucking some Alabama blood snake or something ’cause you really do talk like a fuckin’ retard.”
He flinched slightly; I could see he was trying to decipher what jailhouse game I was working on him. I kept going.
“That’s it, you suck dick, you’re a retard and a smelly, ugly motherfucker too. I got four words for you, take a fuckin’ bath. You take it in the ass I bet, am I right?”
His bloody gun hand started to jerk. I was getting the reaction I wanted, disorientation. This had to be a first for him, on the right end of a chewed-up trey-eight and being humiliated by some white cunt cop.
“Yeah, you’re definitely a booty bandit, all
you treejumping rapists are. Listen, there ain’t nothing wrong with sucking a dick or two, but that whole ass-play thing, that’s a little fucked up. Me, personally, I don’t like taking a hard shit, let alone having some jailhouse baboon stick a dick in my ass and lay some boy butter on me. I mean, that’s gotta hurt, no? But then again, we’re back to that whole retard thing, so I understand…”
The sirens were getting closer. I had to force him to make the move. I leaned in for supreme effect.
“You fuckin’ nigga.”
I could see his finger grabbing at the trigger. He wanted to blow a quarter-size hole right through my forehead, probably dig out a piece of gray matter, keep it as another one of his trophies. Something else to jerk off to later. I could see he wanted off the roof without having to do a cop. He was up to five women by this point; did he think that killing a cop would make his sentencing any worse? In prison a cop killer is miles up the food chain from where the rapist sits, you fucking moron. Make your move, I thought. He wanted out before those sirens turned into angry cops, game faces on, locked and loaded for bear. He started to hedge. Did he think this was a wash? Not today, pal; this isn’t close to how the end is going to be played…Fuck it!
I looked into his eyes and prayed that my peripheral vision was on. As if lightning shot from my arm, I grabbed hold of the bullet chamber. I’d disarmed enough perps in my time to know that as long as my hand was on that chamber, the scumbag would not be able to fire the revolver. Now I saw the anger in the Monster. Close combat would be the only way to do this; I pulled him to me. He was concentrating on pulling the trigger, he had no choice but to increase the body count. This was good. I was able to twist the gun into his stomach; if by chance the gun was going to explode, fuck face was taking the first hit. We fell to the roof ledge; I started to scrape his bloody hand along the cement roof cap. I scraped harder, he screamed. I actually saw the wound separate into bright white bone under the grayish tissue. I was transfixed by it for a moment. He was screaming loudly now; I wanted to inflict some pain on this animal before the real redemption was to begin. I was in a zone. Everything around me disappeared, especially the noise; those annoying sirens, so many of them blaring out surreally in different rhythms. The teakettle whistling two stories below, the motorcycle rumbling down the street. It was as if the house lights had dimmed and the show was just beginning.