A Final Taste of Blood

by Wayne C. Rogers

  “The captain had me pull them in earlier,” Matthews said, shaking his head. “He’s worried about the budget on this case.”

  “Have another unit drive over there and park in front of the sidewalk that leads up to Freeman’s condo,” Peterson said. “If the captain says anything, tell him I authorized it. I’m going to drive over there and see if he’s home.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Nothing,” Peterson said.

  ******

  Pulling into parking space beside his wife’s white Toyota, Freeman switched off the SUV. It was still light outside, but the sun was fading fast with dark clouds coming in from the north. He leaned over to the passenger’s side and grabbed a large boxed pizza from the seat and two white plastic bags that were on the floor mat.

  Shoving the driver’s door opened, he got out and bumped the door closed with his hip. He locked the vehicle up with a click of the car fob in his hand. Then, going up the two steps and getting the patio door unlocked, Freeman pushed it inward with his shoulder and stepped up into the small area that was filled with a round table, a grill, potted plants, a Jacuzzi tub for two, and two green trash barrels hidden inside a wooden enclosure.

  He walked over to the table with the cushioned chairs around it and set the items on top. Once he’d locked the patio door, he came back and opened the door to the kitchen. Freeman picked up the pizza and two bags, and was stepping inside when Sheila appeared in the hallway with Betty.

  ”Is that dinner?” Sheila asked, looking at the pizza box in his hand. She moved past him and closed the kitchen door. “Detective Matthews called twice today and wanted to know where you were.”

  “I forgot about going downtown,” he said, setting the pizza and bags down on the kitchen table. “Dr. Dimascio put the temporary crowns on, but it took longer than I expected. I then drove out to see Buddy Rogers.”

  “Let me see the crowns,” she said, staring up at his face.

  While Freeman offered his wife a giant smile that displayed the front crowns, Betty sat down on the titled floor and gazed up at where the pizza box was sitting. She licked her lips in anticipation, but didn’t mutter a sound.

  “They’ll do for the moment,” Sheila said. “I don’t want people to think I’m married to a homeless person.” She kissed him lightly on his bruised lips and then pulled away. “How’s your nose?”

  “It hurts,” he said.

  “You need to take some pain pills,” she said.

  He nodded.

  “I bet you bought a handgun from Buddy, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Freeman said with a sheepish expression on his face. “I got a .50 caliber magnum revolver. It can shoot through steel tanks. If that handgun can’t stop the creature, then nothing can short of a nuclear explosion.”

  “How much did the handgun cost?”

  “Two thousand dollars,” he answered.

  “We can’t afford that, Ben. You just spent part of our nest egg.”

  “Listen, I’ll forget about retiring next year and continue working for a few extra months,” Freeman said. “That will cover the cost of the handgun. Besides, the creature isn’t going away. Now that it’s found me, the damn thing will keep coming back until one of us is dead.”

  “Why don’t you let the police handle it?” she asked.

  “Because I’ll be dead by the time they do anything.”

  Sheila Freeman hugged her husband tightly and said. “I’ll heat up the pizza.”

  “Okay,” Freeman said. “I need to take the princess out for her walk. That’s if I can get her away from the pizza box. Maybe I should tell her that the pizza has anchovies on it.”

  “You know Betty loves pizza,” Sheila said. “It doesn’t matter what’s on it. Okay, take her out, and I’ll warm the pizza pie up.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Freeman said. “I’m going upstairs to the bedroom for a minute.”

  He picked up the two plastic bags as Sheila carried the boxed pizza over to the oven.

  “What’s in the two bags?” she asked.

  Freeman glanced at his wife and smiled. “Two boxes of forty-five caliber hollow points,” he said. “And, a Vietnam survival knife. I’m hoping they will hold me till Buddy gets the .50 caliber revolver in next week.”

  Sheila felt a slight shudder run through her body, but didn’t say anything.

  ******

  Lieutenant Peterson’s car entered the condominium complex and moved quietly down the narrow street that divided the community in half. He passed a patrol car parked against the curb on the right and nodded at the uniformed officer sitting behind the steering wheel, looking bored as hell. Then, taking a right, Peterson headed down the back lane to where the Freemans lived.

  Parking his Ford Taurus behind the black SUV and Toyoda, he turned off everything, got out of the car, and checked the immediate area with weary eyes to make sure nothing was out of the ordinary. Once Peterson was satisfied there wasn’t a homeless person hiding behind a vehicle or a trash barrel, he stepped over to the patio’s back door and pressed the doorbell.

  It took a minute, but eventually Sheila Freeman came outside and unlocked the door to see who was there. Peterson could see Betty standing a few feet back, wagging her long tail at the sight of him standing on the bottom step.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Freeman,” he said. “And hello to you, Ms. Betty.”

  Betty came closer and stuck her head around Sheila’s leg. Bending over, Peterson scratched the dog behind the ears. “I swear Betty reminds me of Precious,” he said, straightening back up so he could look at Mrs. Freeman. “I had Precious when I was a young boy and lived in the hills of North Carolina. I sure loved that animal.”

  “How can I help you, Lt. Peterson?” she said.

  “May I speak to your husband?” he asked.

  “Ben isn’t home,” Sheila said. “I told Detective Matthews the same thing on the telephone.”

  “I was hoping he’d back by now,” Peterson said as he glanced at the SUV, “Isn’t that his vehicle?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Are you sure he’s not home?”

  “A friend must’ve picked him up earlier, while I was shopping at the grocery store.”

  “Buddy Rogers?” he asked, surprising her with the name.

  “I don’t know, Lieutenant. I wasn’t here.”

  “Would it be all right if I came inside and waited for him, Mrs. Freeman?”

  “I don’t know how long Ben is going to be,” Sheila said. “It could be hours. Besides, I’m cleaning the kitchen right now.”

  “I could stay out here and play with Betty.”

  Betty’s tail started wagging at the sound of her name.

  “You don’t give up, do you?” she said.

  “I’m trying to catch a killer, Mrs. Freeman. Plus, I think your husband might be planning to take on this creature by himself. That would be a mistake. One man can’t fight it and survive.”

  The last sentence seemed to confirm what Sheila Freeman had been sensing.

  “You can have a seat at the patio table,” she said, opening the door wider. “I’m going back inside to finish my work.”

  As Lt. Peterson stepped up into the patio and closed the door behind him, Sheila took Betty into the condominium and locked the sliding glass door.

  “I wonder what the hell is going on,” Peterson said to himself.

  ******

  Ben Freeman came down the stairs, slipping the .45 caliber pistol inside his bomber jacket and into a shoulder holster that he was wearing. Sheila was standing at the bottom of the stairwell with Betty already muzzled and leashed.

  “Thank you,” he said. “You must really be hungry for pizza.”

  “Lt. Peterson is sitting out on the patio,” Sheila said. “I told him you weren’t here, but he was adamant about waiting for you. He thinks you’re going after the creature and that you’ll be killed.”

  “Shit,” Freeman said, taking the leash from hi
s wife.

  “Tell me everything is going to be all right, Ben.”

  Freeman gently kissed his wife on the cheek. “Everything will be fine,” he said. “I’ll go out the front door and walk down to the street.”

  “Be careful,” Sheila said.

  “Careful is my middle name,” he said, smiling at her.

  Opening the front door and metal gate, Freeman led Betty outside and down the sidewalk. He heard Sheila close the two doors behind him. His mind was on other things and Freeman didn’t notice the patrol car parked against the curb of the street, until he was practically on top of it. He knew it would look strange if he turned around and went in a different direction, so he continued his journey to the park.

  ******

  Officer Dillman had never seen Ben Freeman or his dog, but he had a general description of them. The man and dog that were walking away from him was a dead ringer for the description. He picked up the hand mike so he could alert the lieutenant about what was happening.

  “Come in Unit One,” Dillman said into the mike. “This is Unit Two calling for Unit One. Our man is on the move, heading to the park with his dog.”

  ******

  Peterson sat there in the chair with his elbows resting on his knees. He was starring at the concrete floor of the patio, knowing something was wrong, but not what. After a few minutes, he stood up and knocked on the door.

  “Mrs. Freeman?” he called out. He waited a minute, and then knocked again. “Mrs. Freeman? It’s Lt. Frank Peterson.”

  Sheila Freeman suddenly appeared in the hallway with tears running down her cheeks. She stepped over to the glass door and unlocked it.

  “What’s wrong?” Peterson asked, sliding the door open.

  “Ben was here,” she said. “He’s taken Betty out for her nightly walk, but that’s just an excuse. He’s hunting the creature, and I’m afraid he’s going to get killed. Please go after him, Lt. Peterson. You’re the only one he might listen to.”

  Moving quickly through the house, Peterson darted out the front. He started running down the sidewalk, heading to the patrol car he’d seen earlier. Peterson needed to know which direction Freeman had gone in. Reaching the car, he jerked open the passenger’s door, scaring the daylights out of Dillman.

  “Which direction did Freeman take the dog?” Peterson asked.

  “I’ve been trying to call you on the hand mike,” Dillman said.

  “Which direction did he head in?”

  “Freeman went up the sidewalk, heading to the park.”

  “Call for backup,” Peterson said. “I’m going after him. Stay here and keep a sharp eye out on the condominium. I want to make sure his wife is protected.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dillman said.

  Peterson saw Officer Dillman grab the hand mike and press down on the call button as he got ready to send in the emergency call for help. Not wasting any time, the lieutenant slammed the door shut and began to run in the direction of the park, suspecting Freeman was already out of the complex.

  ******

  The sun had set and it was night out as Freeman and Betty came to the end of the sidewalk that ran east and west inside the condominium complex. He guided the animal through the break in the cinderblock wall, and they walked out to what used to be the rear entrance of the community. Stopping at the beginning of the old driveway, Freeman checked out both ends of Topaz Street. All he saw were the headlights of a car rushing down Reno Avenue to Eastern.

  “Which way, Betty?” Freeman asked. “Left or right?”

  Betty glanced to the left as if she understood exactly what her master was saying. She then stared into the darkness across the street and began to growl. The noise sounded like a rumbling coming from deep inside her chest.

  Freeman looked at the dog and said, “What is it, girl?”

  The growl became louder and more intense as she continued to stare across the street at the wall surrounding the dark apartment complex. She bared her teeth and took a step forward, but Freeman held tightly to the leash.

  “The creature’s over there, isn’t it?”

  Betty barked once and then tugged on the least, wanting to run across the street and confront whatever it was hiding there. Then, a shadow appeared as it dashed out of the apartment entrance. The creature ran full out with the tail of its trench coat flapping in the air, heading north on Topaz. It didn’t even stop to look back. Instead, the shadow veered right and vanished into the alleyway behind a shopping center that faced East Tropicana Avenue.

  Turning around, Freeman saw a cement post planted into the asphalt that was designed to keep motorist from driving into the cinderblock wall. He walked Betty over to the post, squatted down, and tied the leash to it.

  “I wish I could take you with me,” Freeman said to the dog, “but I’m afraid you’ll get hurt.”

  Freeman rose to his feet and drew the Colt semi-automatic pistol. Cocking the hammer back, he kept the handgun down by his side as he began to run toward the alley.

  Betty watched her master head down the street and whimpered in distress.

  ******

  Peterson was nearly to the wall when he felt a pain shoot through his upper body. He stopped running, grabbed his chest, and bent over to stare down at the sidewalk with blurred eyes.

  “Not now,” he said, taking deep breaths to calm himself.

  Sucking in air like there was no tomorrow, he straightened up and walked the rest of the way.

  ******

  As Freeman approached the alleyway, he raised the pistol in a tight, two-handed grip, keeping it pointed straight ahead of him. He halted and stared into the darkness. The street lights behind the shopping center were broken, casting the entire area in a shroud of eerie blackness that was perfect for the predator.

  He took a deep breath and then entered the alley, glancing apprehensively from side to side. He knew it was a trap. As the ex-tunnel rat moved closer to a large trash dumpster, he heard an unexpected noise to his immediate right and spun around with his pistol aimed.

  A black cat had its nose buried inside a Big Mac food container. The cat looked up at Freeman for a second, and then returned to its scavenging business.

  Freeman let out a sigh of relief.

  Then, the expression on his face swiftly changed to one of stunned revelation as he heard a different sound behind him. He quickly swiveled around and saw nothing at first. The cat, however, caught the movement of something off to Freeman’s left that made the animal arch its back and hiss loudly.

  Turning to his right, Freeman found Melvin/creature standing there right in his face, offering him a lopsided grin with his red demonic eyes aglow with excitement. Freeman started to pull the trigger, but the creature was faster and slapped the weapon from his hand.

  As the pistol flew into the air, the quai vat took hold of Freeman by the lapels of his coat, lifted him high into the air, and tossed him across the alley as if he were a rag doll.

  Freeman landed on top of a bunch of empty cardboard boxes stacked up behind a store and tumbled to the bottom. He came to an abrupt halt face down upon the asphalt. After a few seconds, he raised his head and glanced groggily around for the handgun.

  The creature stood there and watched his enemy with a malicious, salivating grin as its contorted face shifted back and forth from the monstrous entity it really was to the dead homeless person with the broken neck.

  Realizing that he needed to act or die, Freeman began to crawl as fast as he could to the pistol a few yards away.

  The Melvin/creature, however, had other plans. It followed Freeman’s movements, stepping alongside of him until the man was within arm’s reach of the weapon and then the creature pounced upon him, landing on top of the ex-tunnel rat’s back with its knees, morphing into the horrible thing it had been for centuries.

  The creature landed hard on Freeman, knocking the wind out of him. Changing positions, it raked its sharp talons down the back of the bomber jacket, ripping it and the shirt undern
eath wide open. Then, the quai vat tore into Freeman’s bare flesh with its teeth, causing the man to scream out in unadulterated agony.

  ******

  Peterson heard the scream as he came through the opening in the wall. The detective’s eyes turned in the direction of the sound, and then came back to rest on Betty, who was still tied to the cement post. He rushed over to her and knelt down beside the animal.

  “That stupid man,” he said, unhooking the least from the dog’s collar. “Go find him, Betty.”