by Terry Hayden
“Let me jump.” the man begged.
“Sure, I’ll let you jump.” William said.
He placed the pistol’s barrel at the base of the man’s skull, and pulled the trigger. A look of terrible surprise appeared on the man’s face as William pushed him from the train. His crumpled body was still in sight when William rolled the first man out of the now bloody freight car. Williamwalked back to the exact spot where he had been sitting before the grisly incident, and calmly sat back down. Without so much as even clearing his throat or breaking wind, he closed his eyes and went peacefully to sleep.
He woke up a few hours later, hungry and exhilarated. His ankle was sore and his arm was hurting ever so slightly, but he could not remember why. Other than that he had never felt better in his life. The landscape had changed from rolling hills of red clay, to flat fields of yellow sandy soil. He had a feeling that Wilmington was not too much further away.
***********
William Hill made the transition from boy to man while he was on that train to Wilmington. He changed from an inexperienced, naive and confused youth, to a cold and calculating killer. He could have easily used that gun to keep the hobos at bay, instead he made the three men pay the ultimate price for interfering in his life. And by God, he felt invigorated by the whole experience. The gun was like a part of his body that he never knew that he had before that episode. He likened the discovery to the first time that he realized that he could do more than pee with that thing between his legs. A surge of adrenaline rushed through his body when the bullet slammed into the hobo’s face. He was kind of disappointed that he did not get to shoot all three of the hobos. Oh well, he thought, two out of three ain’t that bad for a beginner. With some practice, he was sure that he would improve.
In a strange new way William felt a kind of bond with the old man from his dreams. The gun must have belonged to the old man at one time or another. William wondered if his grandfather had ever shot anyone with it. Deep down he knew that the gun had a mysterious past. He was sure that his grandfather wanted him to have it too. Otherwise he would not have lead the boy to it in his dreams, and he would not have let the boy gain access to it so easily. It was a treasure to cherish and behold. William had the greatest respect for it.
William straightened up the freight car as best as he could. He used his sore foot to rake the bloody straw out of the sliding door. He threw the empty bottles into the North Carolina landscape. He only heard one of the bottles break, the rest landed lightly in the sandy soil. When he was satisfied that the bloody scene was covered up and disposed of, he prepared to exit from the train. The smell of salt in the air had convinced him that he was close to the ocean. He jumped out of the train only minutes after it began slowing down.
It was at least an hour or so before he saw even a hint of civilization. An hour after that he saw the ocean for the first time. He was amazed with the view and taken by what he had seen of Wilmington thus far. At about the same time that he was first exploring his new city, a dirt farmer was making some gruesome discoveries. Three unidentified men were found dead, and two of them from gunshot wounds. An investigation would take place and the bullets would be retrieved and placed into evidence. The men would eventually be buried in unmarked graves. The mystery behind their deaths would never fully be solved. The authorities assumed that the men were hobos and their deaths did not warrant a great deal of concern.
William did not lose any sleep because of the hobo’s deaths either. As soon as the three men were out of his sight, they were also out of his thoughts. They meant no more to him than any other pest. Pests were supposed to be exterminated and he had the perfect tool for the job. He was actually grateful to them for showing him the perfect solution to many of his problems. He was absolutely sure that as long as he had the gun, he would never be afraid again.
*********
Chapter Six
Wilmington was a very busy city with jobs for anyone who was willing to work. It could never be said that William Hill was a lazy man, so he found a good paying job on hisfirst day there. He wanted to be close to the ocean because it was like a new toy for him to enjoy. He found a room that was only minutes away from the water’s edge, and he got a job on the docks loading and unloading ships.
He was amazed at the size of the ships that c ame into the harbor practically around the clock. The people in those ships came in all colors and shapes and sizes, too. He heard languages that made absolutely no sense to him. He could not understand if the strangers wanted him to do something, or go somewhere, or answer a question about something. The expressions on their faces were almost as confusing as their dialects. He soon learned to shrug his shoulders, scratch his tilted head, and simply walk away. Other than an occasional run in with a foreigner, he enjoyed the backbreaking work.
William’s tiny room was in a seedy part of the city. It was close to his job but it was not a safe place to walk around at night, especially alone and unarmed. He was always alone but he was never unarmed. He enjoyed going out at night. He was always hoping that someone would challenge him. He yearned to practice with his other new toy. A couple of times he tried to start something with a stranger on a deserted street, but nothing ever developed far enough for his trusted gun to make a surprise appearance. He was sure that the time would eventually come, and all of the conditions would be right for another perfect shooting to take place.
William had no idea that the murders that he committed on the train were somewhat less than perfect. The man who had begged for his life was not really a hobo. He was a reporter with a large Charlotte newspaper. He had been working undercover for almost a year on an expose’ about a subculture of society that dealt with hobos. The story was close to completion when he lost his life on that lonely stretch of tracks in eastern North Carolina.
The reporter’s name was Pete Goldizen. He always checked in with the newspaper once a month, but he was very careful not to blow his cover. He had built up arelationship of mutual respect with many of the homeless men, and each of them had a unique story to share. The expose’ of life along the country’s railway system was going to be a major story in the newspaper.
When the time came for Pete’s monthly report to arrive in Charlotte, it never showed up. It had been a couple of days late once or twice before, so the editor was not too concerned at first. When it had not showed up after a week the editor contacted the authorities. Pete was in the ground a month before they finally discovered his true identity. His wife and three small children were devastated at the news of his tragic death.
The newspaper ran a series of chilling stories about life and death along the United States railway system. When the series was finally over, there were countless atrocities reported. And there was no way of knowing the number of crimes and tragedies that were never reported. The principal theme of the reports boiled down to the fact that traveling the rails and living the life of a hobo was extremely dangerous. The men, women, and children who chose that lifestyle, or better yet were forced into it, were vulnerable to abuse from all sides of society and even their own subculture.
A detective service was hired by the newspaper to try and solve the mystery of Pete’s and the other mens’ deaths. But with very little available evidence the job was practically impossible. No one volunteered any information to help with the case. There was an unwritten code of silence among the illegal travelers club, and it was strictly adhered to by its members. The police supplied the private detectives with the bullets that were taken from the dead mens’ bodies, but the detectives had nothing to compare the bullets to. There had been no previous murders on file that had been committed with that particular type of gun, and unless the gun was used again, there would be no way of tracing the killer’s steps. If only the police had unsolved murder files from many, many years back that had been long ago dismissed as unsolvable, they would have had amuch better place to start. That pre
vious killer was never caught but he died years before from a deadly strain of flu that killed millions of people around the world.
As far as the rest of the world around him was concerned, William was invincible when he was in possession of his gun. He just like his grandfather before him, kept the gun with him all of the time. He just like his long dead grandfather, felt like a cowboy in an old western movie when he practiced his moves in front of the mirror in his room. The old saying that practice makes perfect would have to do for the time being. Experience was what hereally wanted more than anything else.
**********
William finally got the chance to use the gun again one dark Sunday night not too long after he settled in Wilmington. It had been a bleak, overcast weekend, and boredom finally drove him out of his room on that fateful night. He loved to watch the turbulent sea in stormy weather, so he walked directly to the ocean. There was a long isolated fishing pier that was not far from his boarding house. He got there sometime after ten p.m., and the place was completely deserted. Sometimes there were hardcore fishermen there at night, but on this occasion even those guys had stayed away. He walked all the way to the end of the pier, sat down and dangled his feet over the edge. He was fascinated by the waves and the motion of the undercurrents. He loved to hear the water slapping against the wooden poles that suspended the pier above the water line. He was so hypnotized by his surroundings that he lost all track of time. It must have been midnight or after before he began his trip back to the boarding house.
There were barrels stacked all around the walkway at the opposite end of the pier. It was a perfect place for someone to make a surprise attack on an unsuspecting target. William was well aware of the potential for danger, but he looked forward to the potential challenge. He had the gun in his pocket, and he had his hand on the gun when the assailant came out of the darkness. William almost shot the man on the spot but he realized that he did not want the game to be over so soon. It had been weeks since he had shot the hobos and he wanted to savor the moment for as long as he could.
The man came out from behind a stack of barrels and rushed toward William with a deadly looking knife in his hand. William instantly recognized the shape of the blade as one of the tools of his trade. The curved blade was used to cut the ropes on shipping containers. The knives were always razor sharp, and they looked very intimidating to anyone who was not familiar with them.
The man did not bother to disguise his appearance which led William to believe that he had murderous intentions. The very idea excited William in an almost sexual way. He felt like he was playing a game and the rules had turned deadly serious. Just as the two men were within a few feet of contact, William pulled the pistol from his pocket. Even the blackness of the night could not dull the shine that radiated from the gun. William had polished it so much that it seemed to glow in the darkness. The offender stopped in his tracks. He probably would have tried to run but his escape route was blocked by barrels.
“What are you doing here?” William asked forcefully.
The man obviously thought that William was a policeman out of uniform. Sometimes the owners of the docks hired off duty police to patrol against illegal activity. He came up with a quick excuse for being there.
“Uh, uh, I was trying to cut open some containers but my knife seems to be too dull.” he lied.
“But not too dull to cut my throat?” William asked.
“Oh, no sir. I would never hurt anybody. I thought that you were going to try to steal something.”
“Tell it to somebody who believes it, Buddy.”
“What are you going to do with me mister?” the man asked, still thinking that William was a policeman. “Please don’t turn me in. I don’t want to go to jail.”
“Why should you go to jail? You were just doing your job, right?”
“Uh, yes. That’s right.” the man replied.
“Right my ass.” William declared. “Drop the knife, you are coming with me.”
The man dropped the knife and stood there trembling.
“Straighten up man, I’m not going to hurt you. You are going to walk to the end of the pier with me.”
The man looked puzzled, but did as he was told.
“What are you going to do with me?” he asked again after they got to the end of the pier.
“I am going to watch you swim.” William answered.
“But I am not a very good swimmer, and I will ruin my shoes in the ocean.” the man pleaded.
“Your shoes are the least of my concerns. Besides, you are going to take them off, along with the rest of your clothes.” William demanded.
He raised the gun into the air and then aimed it directly at the man’s face.
The man finally realized that his would be victim was not a policeman after all. He realized that his own life was in danger. He begged for William to let him go.
“Please sir, let me go. Don’t hurt me. I just want to go home.”
“Do as you are told!” William shouted. “Take off your clothes. I’m just about to lose my patience with you.”
The man began to cry as he took off his shoes and ragged socks. William showed no emotion as he watched the bizarre show take place. When he thought that the man was not moving fast enough, he encouraged him to speed up.
“Faster man, a little less cry babying and a little more activity.”
“The ocean is so rough, and its a long ways to shore from way out here. Won’t you please just let me go. You can keep my clothes if that’s what you want.” the man begged.
“Look buddy, you can either swim in, or die right here. The choice is yours.”
William’s voice was as cold as his heart.
When the man was totally naked, fear and the cold night air made him shake almost uncontrollably. William looked at his pale, skinny body with contempt and rage. He thought that he was gazing at a poor excuse for a man.
Without uttering a word he pushed the trembling mass into the stormy sea. William looked in all directions for any sign of life other than the poor excuse for one that was thrashing about in the water. Seeing no one, he sat down on the edge of the pier to watch his struggling prey. The man struggled in silence. He knew that the crazy man up on the pier was not going to help him. Soon he was struggling to keep his head above water.
The man reminded William of a baby bird before it grew feathers or learned how to fly. When he finally grew bored of watching the pitiful excuse for a man flap his useless arms in the water, he aimed the gun and fired the shot that put an end to the bizarre show. The bullet struck the struggling man just to the left of his Adam’s Apple. He was conscious of the fact that he had been shot, but he was bleeding so severely that in less than ten heartbeats his blood supply was gone.
The struggle was over and the man rolled over and sank into the murky water. William got up from his seat, brushed the loose sand from the seat of his pants, threw the dead man’s clothes into the thrashing water, and whistled a tune as he walked back to the boarding house. He slept that night without dreams. He awoke in the morning refreshed but very hungry. He decided to have pancakes on the way to work. That would be his reward for doing such a good job the night before. He loved life and he loved the place where he was living. And the people that he ran into were so interesting too. He only wished that he had saved a souvenir from the night before, next time he would make sure of it. He might even start a collection.
Early that same morning around daybreak, a body washed ashore close to the pier. Authorities recognized the dead man as a local thug and petty criminal. Theysuspected that his sorted past had finally caught up with him. A bullet was recovered from his body and bagged as evidence. His clothes washed ashore a little further down the coast. Nothing extraordinary was done to try and solve the murder.
William bought the newspaper for several days, to r
ead about the shooting. He was very disappointed that little was said about the victim or the circumstances behind his death. He decided that something would have to be done next time to make sure that the story was more interesting.
*************
William had become a man with two distinct personalities. The people that he worked with saw an innocent looking, naive acting young man. Many of them would describe him as shy. He worked hard and he kept to himself. He talked only if it related to his job. Otherwise he saved his words like a miser saved his pennies. The people who saw his other personality were his ultimate victims. They witnessed a brief encounter with an ambitious man who had a purpose to fulfill. He was his own knight in shining armour, a hero in his own mind. His dark encounters were brief and deadly. The people who got to know him that well did not live to tell about it.
He soon developed a hunger for late night encounters. His appetite hinted of a sexual need that only his gun and a stranger could ultimately satisfy. He began to think of his potential targets merely as pieces of a game, pawns in a lethal game of chess. It was exactly two weeks to the day after the shooting at the pier, that he set out on another adventure.
William had a preference for Sunday night rendezvous for more than one reason. There was less activity on the streets on Sunday nights. He could not afford to have any witnesses to his big adventures. On Friday and Saturday nights the nightlife went on until the wee hours of the morning. On weeknights he did not want to be out late because he had to get up early and go to work. But he could lie around and be sluggish all day on Sunday and be well rested on Sunday night. If he happened to get lucky on Sunday night, he would be full of energy on Monday and be in good spirits for the rest of the week.
The next week after he shot the man from the pier was one of his most productive at work. No amount of physical activity could even begin to tire him. His coworkers thought that he must have been dabbling in some type of illegal narcotics because of his sudden bursts of energy. He could have told them that his illegal narcotic was hidden in his pants, and he would have gladly showed it to them, but he would have to kill them afterwards. He visualized himself walking along the docks and felling his supervisors and coworkers with shots to the head. The bizarre fantasy helped him through boring days and weeks at his job.