by C.L. Wells
“Mr. O’Conner, is it?” asked a detective as he approached. Jimmy stuck the card in his shirt pocket before looking up at the approaching officer.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“So, can you tell me what happened here today?”
“Sure. I was out for a walk, and when I came by the alleyway over there, I saw this guy grabbing this little girl and putting something over her mouth....”
* * * * *
Within a few minutes, he had given them the best description of the would-be kidnapper and the van that he could. He’d even told them that the guy’s nose was busted up pretty good, showing them the blood stain on his right hand. They swabbed his hand to get a blood type. The only details that he left out were the facts that he had the creep’s van keys in his pocket, and that he had, in fact, been following the little girl to begin with. The police seemed satisfied with his description of events, took down his name and number, and confirmed the hotel where he was staying for the week in case they had any follow-up questions.
After leaving the park and getting back into his car, he turned the air on high and drove a few blocks away to a convenience store where he pulled into one of the vacant parking spaces. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the set of keys that he had taken from the kidnapper’s van. He smiled to himself as he saw the leather key tag that was attached to the key ring. It had a name and number clearly written on it:
Dwayne Baxter
52 Hollander Court
Tucson, AZ 85756
He pulled out his phone and hit a number on speed dial, then waited for an answer.
“Jimmy, what’s up? I thought you were out West somewhere, visiting your sister,” the caller on the other end exclaimed.
“I am, Sal. I’m in Tucson. Listen, I have a situation. I need a piece, and fast.”
“You in any trouble?”
“Nah, but somebody else is gonna be.”
“O.k., o.k., don’t say any more. The less I know, the better. Give me a minute.”
There was a clunk as the phone on the other end was set down on the table. Two minutes passed before Sal picked it back up.
“There’s a guy on Pinson Street downtown. Runs a pawn shop called ‘Money Man Pawn’. Name’s Tommy Bell. Tell him I sent ya and he’ll set you up with a clean piece.”
“Thanks, Sal.”
“Don’t mention it. Be safe.”
“Yeah, you too, Sal.”
* * * * *
It took Dwayne a full hour and a half to get home after the failed kidnapping. He followed the instructions he had been given to the letter. He parked the van in the abandoned warehouse, walked three blocks to where he had parked his own car, and then made a series of stops at various locations, watching to see if anyone was following him before he drove back to his house on Hollander Court. Dwayne was a simple guy, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew he had to make sure nobody was following him home.
Once he was back in his own house, he took two 200 milligram Ibuprophen pills, leaned his head back on the backrest of the couch, and gently placed an ice pack on the bridge of his broken nose. He tried to remain as motionless as possible as he closed his eyes and contemplated the morning’s disaster. It was supposed to have been a simple job. He had the chloroform, the isolated location to park the van, and a sparsely populated park. The lady had been bringing the kid to the same park every weekday for the past week at the same time, and was always on her phone. He’d even lucked out when the kid she was playing with kicked the ball right down his alley and the little girl ran after it.
Then it all went south. Mr. Tough Guy Hero had just about broken his neck with that punch, and taken the key ring with both the van key and his personal car key on it – what were the odds? It was a good thing he’d had a spare key in the ash tray of the van. Then, at the warehouse where he’d stashed the van, he’d had to fish around under his own car to get the hide-a-key in order to get home. Suddenly, he remembered what was written on the leather tag on his original set of keys.
“Shoot! I never should have put the van key on that key ring! I’m screwed!”
“Why do you say that, Dwayne?” a voice replied from the other side of the room.
Dwayne sat bolt upright despite the pain in his neck and face. He looked across the room to see Mr. Fitzgerald, calmly sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, staring back at him. How did he always seem to show up, unannounced, like that? It was creepy.
“Mr. Fitzgerald, I didn’t hear you come in,” Dwayne fumbled.
“You never do, Dwayne. But that’s immaterial. Why, exactly, are you screwed, and where, exactly, is the girl?”
“Well... I did just like you said. I went to the park and waited for the girl to show. She did, and then she chased her ball down the alley where I was parked, right next to the van. I couldn’t believe my luck! I knocked her out with the chloroform and put her in the van, but then, just as I was getting out of the back, some guy punched me in the nose – knocked me clean out, and took my keys and the girl. I had a spare set of keys, though, so when I woke up I drove away.”
“Did anyone follow you, Dwayne?”
“No... no, I did just what you told me to. Nobody followed me... but I just remembered that I had a leather tag with my home address on that key ring, so I’m screwed....”
Dwayne started breathing faster, and was on the verge of hyperventilating when Mr. Fitzgerald responded calmly.
“Now, now, Dwayne. It will be o.k. How long ago did you lose the key ring?”
“About an hour and a half ago,” he responded, his breathing rate slowing down somewhat.
“You need to calm down. I’m going to make you some tea and we’re going to resolve this together. Everything will be o.k.”
“O.k., that would be nice. Thank you, Mr. Fitzgerald.”
* * * * *
A few minutes later, Mr. Fitzgerald came back with a cup of tea. He put it on the coffee table in front of Dwayne, and sat back down in the kitchen chair.
“Drink up – it will help calm you down. It’s just the right temperature.”
Dwayne sat up and put the ice pack down on the table, then grasped the cup with both hands and sipped it, and took a bigger drink once he confirmed it wasn’t too hot. He loved tea. Mr. Fitzgerald was such a good friend. He would figure out what to do to fix the situation. He always did.
“Take another drink. There’s no rush to talk right now.”
“Hmm... this is good. Thank you.”
Dwayne noticed that Mr. Fitzgerald was wearing gloves, and wondered why he had gloves on in the middle of summer. He didn’t think that he’d had gloves on when he’d first seen him a few minutes ago.
“What did this man who hit you look like?”
“He was about six-three, kinda bulky. Haircut like a Marine. He was....”
Dwayne set the cup down on the table. He was having trouble breathing.
“He was what, Dwayne?” Mr. Fitzgerald asked calmly.
Dwayne’s mouth was foaming now. He reached for his throat, and then fell over onto the coffee table, spilling the remaining tea as he did. Mr. Fitzgerald waited until Dwayne stopped convulsing, and then casually walked over, fished out Dwayne’s cell phone from his pocket, and dialed 9-1-1.
“This is 911, what’s your emergency?”
Mr. Fitzgerald began to make heaving sounds as he began to speak.
“I want to confess to an attempted kidnapping. My name is Dwayne Baxter. I... I’m so ashamed.... I did it! I tried to kidnap that little girl, but she got away. I know you’ll catch me, so I’m going to kill myself! You can find the van in a warehouse on forty-second street. I’m so sorry!”
“Sir! Calm down. Where are you located?”
Mr. Fitzgerald hit the disconnect icon on the phone and put the phone back in Dwayne’s pocket. He put the kitchen chair back under the table, took out a handkerchief, wiped off everything he had touch
ed before putting on the gloves, and then quietly let himself out the back door.
Chapter Six
It didn’t take Jimmy long to get the gun. Inside of an hour, he was on his way to Dwayne Baxter’s house with the .38 special tucked in his waistband. He had already planned out the hit. He would make it look like a robbery gone wrong. The police would believe that Dwayne had come home, spooked a thief, and paid for it with his life. Plain and simple – just the way Jimmy liked it.
Jimmy had done his share of wet work. He had iced twelve people in his time in the mob, but there was a line even he didn’t cross. You didn’t hurt kids. That simply wasn’t done. This guy was probably a pervert to boot. The thought made Jimmy’s blood boil. No. Guys like this were screwed up in the head. There was only one way to deal with them. Jimmy was going to do society a favor and make sure this creep didn’t ever try to hurt another kid again.
He parked several blocks from Dwayne’s house and began walking, slowing down considerably when he was about a block away, taking his time and looking for any signs of the police. When he was two houses down from his destination, he saw some movement. A man dressed in black was walking along the side of Dwayne’s house towards the sidewalk, casually putting something in his pocket. He couldn’t be sure from this distance, but it looked like a pair of gloves. The man turned and walked in the opposite direction from Jimmy, and then disappeared around the corner. There was a car in the driveway of the house, but no van.
He pretended to tie his shoe while he surveilled the house. The problem at this point was that, if Dwayne was home but not alone, there would be more than one person who would have to be dealt with – and that could get messy. Jimmy wanted to take care of this guy in the worst way, but he didn’t want to get caught and go to jail for it either. The more people involved in the crime, the bigger the potential that someone would hear him and call the cops before he could get away clean. So he came up with a plan.
He would start out by telling Dwayne that he wanted to be paid off, or else he would tell the cops where Dwayne lived. That would buy him enough time to tell if anyone else was home. If no one was home, he would ice the guy and leave. If there was someone else there, he would arrange a meet for the payoff, and then ice Dwayne when he came to the meet. It wasn’t foolproof, but it would have to do on short notice.
When he got to the driveway, he bent down behind the car and put his hand near the tailpipe. It was still warm, so somebody had arrived recently. Normally, this late in the year in Chicago, he would have checked the hood of the car to see if it was still warm, but it was almost a hundred degrees here in Tucson, so that wouldn’t work.
He cautiously walked down the driveway, looking for any signs of movement in the windows of the house. When he arrived at the back door, he took out a handkerchief and tried the back door-knob. Surprisingly, it was unlocked. He slowly opened the door, hoping the hinges didn’t creak, and was pleased to find that it opened almost silently.
The house had an open floor plan. The back door entered the kitchen area, and beyond that was the living room/dining area. He didn’t see or hear anyone, which was a relief. Taking one more step allowed him to see over the top of the island bar and seating area that separated the open kitchen from the rest of the room. When he did so, he had a clear view of the coffee table, and Dwayne’s motionless body slumped over it. Instinctively, Jimmy drew the gun and walked slowly over to the body, listening and looking for any indication that someone else was in the house.
As he stepped closer, he could see the foam around Dwayne’s mouth. Probably arsenic, he thought to himself. He had used it more than once to eliminate someone. He put two fingers on Dwayne’s carotid artery to check for a pulse, being careful not to step in the liquid that had been spilled on the wood floor near the body. No pulse. It appeared the guy in black had planned to kill Dwayne too – only, he’d gotten there first. Jimmy smiled, admiring the simplicity of it all. The guy must have been known to Dwayne Baxter too, because there was no sign of a struggle. The victim had taken the poison willingly.
A distant siren brought Jimmy to attention. He tucked the .38 back into his waistband and immediately began making his way to the back door, being careful to close it with his handkerchief once he was outside so as not to leave any fingerprints. He walked down the driveway and went in the opposite direction from where he heard the sirens coming. As he turned down the next street, he saw a police car turn on to Hollander Court with its lights flashing, followed by an ambulance.
* * * * *
It had been sometime during fourth grade when John Fitzgerald Robbins first heard the voice – the same voice that had told him the little girl must die; the same voice that had told him that Dwayne Baxter must pay for his failure with his life. He remembered the experience like it was yesterday, even though it happened when he was just a kid. Being bored out of his mind, and finding a trunk in the attic that belonged to his grandmother, he thought it might be interesting to see what was inside.
There were a few silver chalices – like the kind people give as gifts at weddings, several pictures, something that looked like a baby’s dress, and two books of old stamps. He emptied out the entire trunk, turning it over by accident as he pushed it aside to make way for the next box of unknown treasures that lay just behind it. That was when he heard it. A distinct ‘thunk’, like something had shifted inside the trunk –only there wasn’t anything left inside. He repeated the maneuver of turning the trunk over, deliberately this time, and heard the same ‘thunk’. There must be a secret compartment in the trunk, he thought to himself excitedly. He quickly turned the trunk back over and began looking for a latch or a secret door of some kind.
“John! It’s time to eat lunch!” his mother called from downstairs.
“Coming!” John replied.
He went downstairs and ate lunch as fast as possible. His mom didn’t even have to remind him three times that he wouldn’t get dessert if he didn’t finish his vegetables.
“That was fast. You must have been hungry. What do you want for dessert?” his mom asked.
“Hmm... nothing right now, thanks. I just want to go and play.”
“O.k., well, if you change your mind, just let me know,” his mother replied, shocked that he had turned down what was usually his favorite part of the meal.
John went straight back to the attic and began to look inside the trunk again. As he stared at the bottom of the trunk, he noticed three cross-pieces that spanned the entire width of it. He tried to move the one on the end – nothing. Then he tried the one in the middle and it wiggled a bit. After fidgeting with it for a few minutes, he discovered it would twist sideways. When it did, it revealed two hinges and popped up just a little bit. When he pulled upwards on the piece of wood that was still attached to the bottom of the trunk by some sort of pin, the bottom of the trunk came up like a tent in the middle, with the two ends sliding towards the middle and revealing a small, hidden compartment on each end of the trunk. On the one side there was a book about nine inches by six inches by two inches, and on the other side there were two smaller books.
The title of the larger book was, On Demons and Angels: How to Contact the Demonic Realm. The two smaller books had strange symbols on the outside, but no words.
Over the next few weeks, he studied the books intensely, keeping them hidden in the trunk when he wasn’t reading them. The books described strange rituals and contained weird spells and incantations. He was fascinated. Then, the family left on their summer vacation to the mountains. When they came back, school started, and within a few weeks he had all but forgotten about the books... that is, until Jeffrey Perry began to bully him at school.
Jeffrey Perry was a big, obnoxious kid who used his strength to get his way and humiliate anyone whom he didn’t like. Unfortunately for John Fitzgerald Robbins, Jeffrey Perry despised him. It started on the kickball field when John wa
s on first base and Jeffrey was up next to kick. Jeffrey kicked the ball long and came running down the base line like a freight train. John, who had always been slower than the other kids when it came to running, tripped on the way to second base, causing Jeffrey – who was right behind him by that time – to trip and fall on top of him. Because of his blunder, the second baseman easily tagged them both out. Jeffrey was furious.
“Way to go, Robbins! You just cost us two runs! Is your rear end full of lead or somethin’?”
“I’m sorry,” John replied, “I tripped.”
“Yeah, I know you’re sorry. You’re a sorry ball player.”
After that incident, it seemed as if Jeffrey Perry had a personal vendetta against John. He pushed him in the hallway, causing him to fall and drop all of his books. He blew spit balls at him in class. He even started stalking him at lunch and stealing the best parts of his meal. John didn’t want to tell his parents about it; he wasn’t a sissy. But his stomach started hurting at night when he would think about going to school the next day and enduring another round of humiliation and bullying. Then, one night, he remembered one of the spells he had seen in his grandmother’s book. It was about getting protection from your enemies.
He lay awake all night thinking about that book, and faked being sick the next morning so that he could stay home from school. When his mom was busy washing laundry, he snuck upstairs to his grandmother’s trunk and found the spell. In the preface to the spell were the words...
Warning: The following spell will protect you from an enemy, however, it comes with a price. One day you will be asked to do a favor for the demon who comes to protect you. If you don’t perform the favor, the vengeance of the demon will be ten-fold the wrath of your enemy.