Stagecoach Road

by Daniel Kamen

  “I didn’t want to do this tonight,” Benny said to Rings. “I just wanted to kill his fucking dogs. I had no idea he was home. Here, help me hoist him in the back of your truck.”

  Rings lowered the tailgate on his suburban while Benny dragged Gerald’s gangly body to the fence. Rings helped Benny lift the listless racist over the fence and into the covered back section.

  “Get his shotgun,” Benny said while he prepared a few more Sucostrin darts in the back seat.

  Rings hurdled over the fence and grabbed Gerald’s shotgun. As he picked it up he glanced at the house and saw a face peering out the kitchen window. It was Frank. The commotion woke him up.

  “SHIT!” Rings shouted. “Someone else is home!”

  “MOTHERFUCKER!” Benny screamed. “IT’S FRANK! HE’S COMING AT YOU!”

  Rings clutched the shotgun and leapt over the fence, just making it to his car.

  “You’re driving,” Benny yelled as he grabbed a handful of darts and Sucostrin and climbed in the back with Gerald. “Drive to Stagecoach Road. To our spot.”

  The GMC was already running. Rings tossed the shotgun in the back with Benny and jumped in the driver’s seat. Still inebriated, Frank reached the fence, wearing a dirty T-shirt, torn jeans and no shoes. He only saw Rings but thought he heard two voices. Rings started to pull away.

  “GET BACK HERE NIGGER!” Frank shouted as he glanced at the four dead carcasses then saw the suburban pull away in the dark of night.

  As Rings made his way down the alley Benny looked out the back window and saw Frank scramble back to the house--not knowing if he was going to call the cops. But he didn’t care. He was all alone in the back with Gerald. Paralyzed Gerald.

  It was approaching midnight. Rings mindfully drove the speed limit while driving east on U.S. 20, making his way to Stagecoach Road. Benny was preparing a few more Sucostrin darts and happily chatting with his guest.

  “Nice to see you again,” Benny said, controlling the conversation while watching Gerald’s fearsome, helpless eyes stare at him. “Yes, you are right,” Benny continued. “I killed them both. I did. Tommy’s gone. Murphy, too. I’m the fucking Jew who did it. Oh, and the nigger, as you so eloquently stated--is driving. He’s my friend. You insulted my friend. He’s going to assist me tonight. Do you really think he’s a nigger? No, I don’t think so. I just may give you the benefit of the doubt.”

  U.S. 20 was unusually quiet for a Monday evening, even though it was past midnight. Normally there were a lot of truckers on the road making their way to the expressway. But not that night. And Rings was glad of that. He just wanted the night to end peacefully.

  “Look out there,” Benny patronizingly told Gerald while preparing the drug laced darts. “Look out there,” Benny stated again, knowing full well his passenger couldn’t move nor could see where he was pointing. “Isn’t it a lovely evening?” Benny put down a set of five darts. “It’s so much like an evening during a fine June evening back in 1973. Do you remember that evening? I do. I really do. Please believe me. I remember that evening. How good is your memory? Do you remember that evening? I’M ASKING YOU A QUESTION, FUCKER!”

  Gerald didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer.

  “I hate to repeat myself,” Benny said. “I don’t stutter as much as I used to, but I still do. When I ask you a question I expect an answer. Now--isn’t it a lovely evening?”

  The first two doses were slowly wearing off. Benny didn’t bring any extra rope along--thinking he didn’t need any. He had some in his Jon boat. Gerald was bound only by the chemicals. His right arm flinched and he let out a grunt.

  “HOLD STILL, FUCKER!” Benny screamed. “Don’t get me mad.”

  Gerald stopped moving but Benny already had a dart in his hand.

  “I wish you hadn’t moved just now,” Benny softly said, his anger boiling over from a slow simmer, as he grabbed a dart and viciously plunged it into Gerald’s right bicep and forcefully kept it there until he got a reaction. Gerald’s face winced in pain--the only muscles he could move.

  “Hitler had the right idea? No, I have the right idea,” Benny declared.

  Rings turned left onto County Line Road then right onto Stagecoach Road. Every squeak the old suburban made was amplified by the quiet night as the trio rolled down that old deserted road towards the tree. Rings stopped when he came to the spot and pulled off to the side. Benny got out and met Rings on the driver’s side.

  “Pull all the way into the woods next to my Camry,” Benny ordered. “We’ve got to stay out of sight.”

  While Rings hid his vehicle, Benny walked to his covered Jon boat, sizing up the task ahead.

  “That’s good, that’s good,” Benny said as Rings came to a dead stop. Benny opened the back door and studied his doomed and powerless prey. “Here, help me lift this maggot next to the boat. I just want this over.”

  Gerald felt and heard everything while they dragged his body behind the Jon boat. His panicked eyes looked upward from the ground. He felt the grip of his captors release and watched while they removed the tarp from the boat. Benny pulled out a knife and his camera while handing a large roll of gray duct tape to Rings.

  “Oh, nurse,” Benny sarcastically said to Rings. “Before you do anything, put these on,” he said, handing Rings a pair of latex gloves. “We have to clean your prints off everything you already touched.” Rings’ boney fingers squeezed into the stretchy gloves. “Now wrap this around his mouth three times. But make sure he can breathe through his nose.”

  Rings pulled three feet of tape from the roll, and cradled Gerald’s head between his knees while he coiled three tight loops of tape around his victim’s mouth. “You wanna suck a big black nigger dick?” Rings asked, noticing how close Gerald’s mouth was to his crotch.

  “That’s good, now drag him here,” Benny said. “I want to take some pictures first.”

  Benny already had a fresh roll of film loaded in his antique camera. He pulled his lantern from the boat and set it high on a branch. The bright glow of the lamp exaggerated Gerald’s unfeeling shark-like eyes while Benny steadied the lens and snapped a picture.

  “That’s only one,” Benny said while winding the film to take another black and white. “Pull his pants down. All the way down. I want to get a shot of his dick while it’s still in one piece.”

  Rings did what Benny asked.

  “Hey Sox, he’s moving! What should I do?”

  Benny walked over to Gerald and stuck another dart in his thigh. “Jesus, man, your metabolism must be in high gear,” Benny said while looking at Gerald. “You’re going through these drugs like Mickey Rooney went through wives. Don’t you know these things are expensive?” And with that, Benny jabbed him twice as hard with a second dart, the needle breaking off in his leg. “NOW STAY STILL, FUCKER!” Benny shouted, then swiftly kicked Gerald in the balls three times, one kick for each punch Benny received an hour earlier.

  Benny went back to the camera and snapped the picture. Rings was getting anxious to go home.

  “Can we finish up now?” Rings politely asked. “It’s getting late.”

  “Yeah,” Benny said. “We’ll be out of here in five minutes.”

  Benny got fifteen feet of rope from the boat and made a strong noose. While carrying his lantern, he walked another fifty feet into the woods and threw the end of the rope over a sturdy branch. With the help of an adjacent tree, he climbed up a few feet to tie off the rope so the noose was seven feet off the ground. He left enough slack from the noose to reach from the ground. Then he walked back to Rings.

  “Here he is, Rings. This guy right here,” Benny said, making sure Gerald heard every word. “This is the creep who cut your daddy. He did it, Rings. This piece of shit killed your father. He was the one, Rings. He did it.”

  Gerald’s eyebrows lifted up as he learned who his other captor was. Eddy’s son! The overdose of Sucostrin made it difficult for him to breathe. Gerald’s dark eyes were as big as silver dollars while he gazed
at Rings towering over him like a big black statue.

  “Give me your knife!” Rings venomously said to Benny. “I want to do the honors.”

  “Here,” Benny said, handing rings the knife and two ghastly pictures of Gerald’s mutilated buddies. “Show him these first. I think he’s a man who appreciates good art!”

  Rings put the pictures in front of Gerald. Benny grabbed the photos from Rings.

  “I just remembered,” Benny said in his usual sarcastic tone. “You forgot to apologize to my friend over here. If I heard right, it sounded like you called him a nigger. But feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.”

  Gerald’s mouth was still hopelessly bound by the strong duct tape and couldn’t answer.

  “HE’S NOT A NIGGER,” Benny yelled, scolding the racist. “And neither was his father, Eddy Moss. No he wasn’t. Eddy was a friend of mine. He was a dear, dear friend of mine. And so was his girlfriend, Twila. You must remember them. You must remember both of them. Now, I’ll give you one chance to free yourself from this horrible mess you’ve gotten yourself into. But you have to do me and Rings here one favor: You must apologize for calling him a nigger. YOU MUST APOLOGIZE NOW! NOW! RIGHT NOW!”

  Gerald tried to close his eyes. He knew he was doomed.

  “I SAID NOW! APOLOGIZE NOW! NOW! NOW! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

  Rings looked down at Gerald.

  “I don’t think he wants to answer you,” Rings said. “Maybe he needs some encouragement.”

  “I think you’re right,” Benny agreed. “But we better encourage him right away. Those drugs I just illegally administered are already starting to wear off. Here, I’ll hold him down and you do whatever.”

  Rings stretched his right leg backward for a warm-up, then furiously kicked Gerald’s scrotum five times as hard as he could.

  “I’M A NIGGER, HUH?” Rings shouted after the first kick. “A NIGGER?” Another swift kick. “A NIGGER? A NIGGER? A NIGGER?” Kick! Kick! Kick!

  Gerald’s sac was completely split open and his balls were leaking out.

  The two dragged Gerald’s alive but bloodied frame fifty feet to the rope. Rings pulled Gerald’s pants down the rest of the way to his feet. It took both of them to lift Gerald up and thread his head through the noose. Benny grabbed the slack and tightened the noose around Gerald’s cold throat. Rings balanced Gerald on his shoulder while Benny went back to get his camera and lantern. Benny came back and placed the lantern high on a branch.

  “YOU KILLED MY DADDY!” Rings yelled as he jumped away, leaving Gerald to hang by his neck. A sickening snapping sound was acutely audible after Gerald dropped--his feet just inches off the ground. The knife fell out of Rings’ hand, but he picked it up and slashed Gerald’s dangling cock--a geyser of blood splattered the air.

  “Look, he’s trying to kick,” cried Rings. “He’s still alive!”

  Rings moved out of the way while Benny took a picture.

  “Let’s put everything back in the boat before we finish him off,” Benny said. “He’ll keep for another couple of minutes.”

  Benny and Rings tossed everything back in the boat except for the camera. Benny had planned on developing the film at his office. Benny then went to his Camry, opened the trunk and got out his pistol, loading three bullets. He also grabbed a small flashlight.

  “Let’s put him out of his misery,” Benny said, switching on the light. Rings followed close behind as they walked to the suspended Nazi worshipper.

  “That gun’s gonna make an awful racket,” Rings said. “Why not just stab him a few more times?”

  “I would have if he wasn’t bleeding so much. My plan was to take him to the Lagoon and finish him off. We can’t do that now. I don’t want to leave a longer trail.”

  “We can still dump him in the Lagoon,” Rings bravely said. “I think that’d be a real cool thing to do--you know, so he could be like the others.”

  “One problem with that,” Benny said.

  “What’s that?”

  “The cops are probably there. My guess is Frank called them. The lagoon is the first place they’ll look.”

  “You may be right,” Rings said.

  “After the third shot I want you to drive home--straight home. And I’ll do the same. No, better yet, I’m going to my folks. They live just a couple miles away.”

  “Okay,” said Rings. “We’ll leave after the third shot.”

  Benny shined the light on his pistol and aimed it at Gerald’s head--his eye’s still flickering with life.

  “Bang! Bang! Bang!” Gerald’s chin slumped to his chest. The bullets left a five-inch crater in his skull. Most of his cerebral cortex was fertilizing the shrubs below.

  Both men jogged back to their cars. Benny put the gun, camera, and flashlight back in his trunk.

  “Leave his shotgun here,” Benny said. “I almost forgot about that. Take the shotgun and toss it underneath his feet.”

  Rings did as he was told and ran swiftly back, not wanting to be alone with the corpse.

  “Now let’s blow,” Benny said as they both got into their cars. “I’ll call you early tomorrow morning.”

  Rings got to County Line Road first and turned left, then right on U.S. 20, heading towards downtown Gary to be safe at home with J.J. and his disabled mother. Benny turned right onto County Line Road towards his folks. He was profusely perspiring from the experience and lit a half smoked stogie he pulled from the ashtray. He was just about to turn left towards the sand dunes onto Pottawattamie Trail when he saw two flashing squad cars speeding up from behind about two blocks away. He quickly made the left and veered off the wrong way on a one way street which was about a hundred feet down. He floored the engine and peeled past the small solitary three story apartment building just to his left, then swiftly turned left again into an old abandoned lumberyard, cut his lights and turned off the engine. A few seconds later he saw the two squad cars zoom down Pottawattamie, heading towards his Nobel, his old grammar school.

  Shit! They know, he thought to himself. I think they know. I think we were followed. That guy I saw at the track. I know it was him. He tipped them off.

  By this time it was almost 1:00 a.m. Marsha knew he wasn’t at home and the Post Tribune was sure to print headlines about a missing man the next morning--somehow associating it with the two murders. One thing was sure: Benny couldn’t go to his folks. Not even to sniff around. So he waited a half hour. He left when two ferocious, loudly barking German Shepherds ran up to his car, gnashing their teeth, and waking up the neighbors. Benny had to pee but was afraid to get out of his car. Someone in a third floor apartment turned a light on and peeked out the window through the drapes. That’s when Benny pulled his sun visor down and drove back towards County Line Road. He looked both ways and didn’t see any cops, or for that matter, any cars. He turned right onto County Line Road. For the first time during this mission he was really scared. He knew he had his camera and gun in the trunk. He knew he still had a few darts tucked in his jacket. He also had the feeling he was being followed, but he didn’t see anyone. As he drove down County Line Road his brain erupted with a vivid flashback to that night in ‘73. I got three of those fuckers now, he thought. He drove another mile. “Yes, three are dead,” he muttered to himself. “One to go!”

  It was 1:12 a.m. Stagecoach Road was coming up just to his left when he saw a pair of headlights in his rearview mirror, a block away, but gaining on him. It wasn’t a squad car. He didn’t know who it was. He turned sharply to his left onto Stagecoach Road, mashing the gas pedal all the way to the floor. Gravel and dirt peppered his windshield as he sped down that dark road for half a mile and didn’t see lights approaching. Satisfied he wasn’t followed, he drove to the tree and parked his car deep into the woods. It was pitch black. The moonlight didn’t help. He got out and opened his trunk, removing his pistol and camera. He grabbed his flashlight but didn’t turn it on. He was cold. Benny zipped up his jacket then took the remaining darts out of his pocket, clutching them
with his left hand, and holding the other items with his arms. He looked around--all the way around and didn’t see or hear anything. He switched on his flashlight and shone it towards his boat. In the distance he saw Gerald hanging by his neck and swaying with the breeze. He lifted the cover off his boat and gently placed the camera and pistol on a slat, then covered the boat again. The wind kicked up. He pointed his flashlight at Gerald and saw him swaying even more in the wind. Suddenly, a massive gust took hold of Gerald’s grisly corpse and spun him around like a top, nearly breaking the branch. The body stopped spinning and came to a sudden halt--facing Benny. Gerald’s eyes and mouth were wide open as if he wanted to say something. Benny ran to his car and started the motor, still holding on to his flashlight and darts. He was about to pull onto Stagecoach Road when he saw two bright headlights quickly advancing his way. He put his car in reverse and backed into the woods, then turned off his lights and engine. He watched from a distance as he saw the strange car’s lights illuminate the road in front of him, slowing to 5 mph. There was just a driver inside--no passengers. But the driver looked familiar--like the person Benny saw at the track. It just can’t be him, Benny thought. How could it be? Benny remained still. Then, the car stopped. Right in front of the tree.

  Shit, I’m dead, Benny thought to himself as he saw a large man get out of the car heading his way, clutching a gun. I’ve got one chance. I’ve got to make a run for the boat and get my gun.

  The man had a gun and a large flashlight which he shone in the trees. The beam highlighted Gerald’s mutilated body hanging from the branch.

  Upon seeing the light, Benny lowered his head and shimmied over to the passenger side door and quietly opened it. He curled down the best he could then slid down to the cold dead leaves below. He measured each move in a desperate attempt to remain unnoticed. But it was impossible. He heard the man walking briskly towards him. Benny stood up and sprinted to his boat.