“You said we. What does that mean?”
“It means that one man can’t kill this monster. It’s going to take three-or-four of us to do it and to do it right.”
“But, you’re a police officer,” Freeman said.
“Not anymore,” Peterson said, sitting back down in the chair. “As of yesterday afternoon, I officially retired. Handed in my papers and kissed the police force goodbye.”
“Just so you could kill this monster?” Freeman asked.
“I was due to retire any way. With your wife and Betty being killed, it simply speeded up the process, Ben.”
“You said three-or-four people were needed to kill this monster. What did you mean?”
“I meant exactly what I said. One man can’t do it alone.”
“Who do you have in mind besides us?”
“Mike Malloy is going to join us on the hunt,” Peterson said. “He’ll be in this afternoon.”
“How did you manage to get a hold of him?”
“I got a message to Malloy through the company where he works. He called me last night, and I explained what had happened. He’s flying into Vegas today from Mexico.”
“I haven’t seen Sheila’s brother in several months,” Freeman said. “He’s going to blame me for her death.”
“No, he’s not,” Peterson said, crossing his legs. “I explained to him how I screwed everything up and made the wrong call. He understood, Ben. Mike doesn’t blame you for his sister’s death. He would’ve done the same thing you did and gone after the creature by himself. Now, all he wants to do is hunt the motherfucker down and kill it.”
Freeman thought for a moment, and then asked, “Who’s the fourth person?”
“I don’t know, yet,” Peterson said, rubbing his jaw.
“Do you have any military experience?” Freeman asked.
Peterson grinned at me and said, “That’s exactly what Malloy asked over the phone.” He raised his head and stared upward at the ceiling as if he was lost within an array of past memories. Then-- “I was in Marine Recon for six years and saw action in Grenada. When I got out of the Corp, I moved to Las Vegas and became a cop.”
“I see a wedding band on your hand. What does your wife think about this?”
“My wife, Gail, is dead,” Peterson said in a low voice. “She died of cancer two years ago. So, I know what loss is.” Then, to change the subject—“Listen, I have to go to the grocery store and get some food for the apartment. I’ll be back later this evening...”
Freeman nodded.
“Malloy should be here before I get back,” Peterson continued. “Are you going to be all right by yourself for a few hours?”
“Sure,” Freeman said, forcing a smile. “Hell, I’m an ex-tunnel rat.”
Grabbing the newspaper from the off the floor, Peterson walked toward the hospital door. Just before he opened it, he glanced back at Freeman.
“I’m not going to tell you the pain goes away, especially this soon after the tragedy,” Peterson said. He thought for a second about what he’s going to say next, choosing each word carefully for the power of their meaning. “It doesn’t, Ben.” What happens is you find a way to cope with the emotional grief each and every day. You try to move on as much as possible. That’s all any human being can do. It’s what I did in order to survive a life without Gail.”
“And it worked?”
Peterson smiled sadly and then said, “Not every day, but most.”
“I don’t know, Frank,” Freeman said.
“Things will get a little easier once this monstrosity of nature is dead,” Peterson said.
He then left the hospital room.
Watching the door close, Freeman shifted his attention to the sunlight drifting in through the blinds. After a few minutes, he shut his eyes and gradually drifted off to sleep.
******
Leaving the main building of Sunrise Hospital, Frank Peterson headed across the adjacent parking lot to where his car was parked. As he drew nearer to the vehicle, he saw Dwayne Matthews leaning back against its hood.
“What brings you to the hospital?” he asked as Matthews straightened up.
“I just found out about your resignation,” the detective said. “You’re going after the creature, aren’t you?”
Peterson smiled silently at Matthews, refusing to give him anything as he stepped around to the driver’s side of the car and unlocked the door with his fob.
”I can help if you let me, Frank.”
“You’ll just get yourself killed,” Peterson said.
“Listen, I’m here if you need me,” Matthews said. “Don’t get your ass caught in the ringer. I know you’re still dealing with the loss of Gail, but don’t let it cloud your judgment. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Thanks, Dwayne,” Peterson said as he opened the car door.
“I’ve always hated being called Dwayne.”
“I know,” Peterson said, smiling.
He then climbed into his vehicle, started the engine up, and drove out of the parking lot, leaving Detective Matthews standing there with his hands in his pockets.
******
It was dark outside when Freeman awoke. His room was cast in shadows with light coming in from the hallway. One of the nurses must’ve opened the door so they could hear him if an emergency arose. He thought about calling for one of them to bring him a cup of water.
That was when he caught the darker shape of his brother-in-law, Mike Malloy, sitting in the chair over in the far corner of the room. Malloy must have moved the chair. He seemed like a Zen monk as he stared silently at him. His body was as still as a rock, but his eyes were focused like a laser beam.
Malloy missed nothing.
Freeman saw that he was dressed in his traditional short-sleeved Hawaii shirt that hung outside the waistband of his Khaki pants. The tunnel rat knew that his brother-in-law always carried a .45 ACP Kimber Utra Crimson pistol in a leather holster that fitted on the inside of his pants, down the small of his back. Malloy could lift his shirt up, draw the semi-automatic, cock it, and aim the weapon at a target in less than three seconds. Pity the crazed idiot that decided to shoot up a mall while Malloy was shopping in one of the stores. Malloy would take the killer down without blinking an eye.
“Would you like me to get you some water?” he asked.
“Yes, please,” Freeman said. “How long have you been here?”
“A couple of hours,” Malloy said. He rose from the chair and stepped over to the portable nightstand where a cup and pitcher were sitting. Grabbing the cup, he poured some cold water from the pitcher into it. He then moved over to the bed and placed the straw to Freeman’s dried lips. “I flew straight in from Mexico City. Hey, don’t drink the water so fast.”
The cup was only half full so it only took Freeman a second to drain it.
“More,” he said, glancing up at Malloy.
The former military man turned back to the pitcher and poured some more water into the cup. He then handed it to Freeman.
“Can you hold the cup okay?”
“Yes,” Freeman said.
“I want you to tell me everything that’s happened,” Malloy said, sitting back down in the chair. “Don’t leave anything out. Even the smallest detail might be important.
“Are you sure, Mike?”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “I’m going to kill the motherfucker when I leave here tonight.”
******
An hour later, Mike Malloy stretched his arms out to ease the muscles in his back. He then slowly stood up and stepped over to the window. Opening the blinds, he stared out at the bright lights that filled the Las Vegas Strip a mile away. The glitz and glamour sparkled like a kaleidoscope of vivid dreams and endless possibilities.
“I never get tired of looking at the Strip during the night,” he said. “When its dark outside, Las Vegas is lit up to the max from Sahara to Hacienda. I think it’s the loveliest city in the world.”
“The tow
n has its moments,” Freeman said.
“During the daylight hours, however, the place looks like a tired old whore who just had her last binge and passed out.”
“You know, it’s strange how all of this started in the underground tunnels of Vietnam and will end amongst the glittering lights of sin city. It’s gone from one extreme to another. I’m still amazed that the creature was able to track me down to this Mecca in the desert.”
“It was your scent, Ben,” Malloy said. “The thing used it to find you, though it took nearly five decades. It’s like a dog travelling from one end of the country to the other in search of its owners.”
“I’m so sorry about Sheila,” Freeman said.
Malloy shut the blinds, and then turned around and gazed steadily at his friend.
“I need you to understand something, Ben, and I’m only going to say it once. No one is to blame for the death of my sister. Not you, not the homicide detective. No one. If I’d gone after the creature when I had the chance back in Nam, none of this would’ve happened. If anyone is to blame it’s me.”
Freeman didn’t say anything.
“What we have to do now,” Malloy continued, “is figure out how to kill the damn thing.”
“Can you get me out of here?”
“I’m working on it,” Malloy said. “The doctor said he’d able to release you in three more days. After that, I can take you home.”
“Are you still going after the monster tonight?”
“What do you think?”
“It wants me, Mike. I have to be there.”
“If the creature is still alive tomorrow,” Malloy said, “we’ll talk about it then. Now, tell me about this Peterson guy. Do you think he’ll fit in with us if we have to hunt the fucker, or will he slow us down? I don’t want him covering my back if he can’t handle it.”
“Frank Peterson is former Marine Recon,” Freeman said.
“A jarhead.”
“He lost his wife two years ago to cancer.”
Malloy thought about that, and then said, “Peterson doesn’t have anything to lose, does he?”
“None of us do, Mike.”
“Amen to that, brother,” Malloy said. “Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow morning around eleven or so.”
The fourth day of November
It was the early part of the afternoon, and Freeman had the top half of the mattress elevated upward so he could eat his lunch from the tray resting on his covered lap. Malloy had slid the chair over next to the bed and was talking quietly to him about the hunt last night and his failure to find the creature.
“I must have walked around the condominium complex fifteen times,” Malloy said in a low voice. “I know I was being watched. I could feel it. If it was the quai vat, it didn’t take the bait. I even went down to the alley behind the Pizza Hut, hoping to draw the thing out, but no go.”
Cutting a slice of roast beef in half, Freeman forked it into his mouth. Once he’d swallowed the piece of meat, he looked at Malloy and said, “I told you last night that it wanted me. I have to be involved in this, or it won’t reveal itself.”
“Be glad you didn’t encounter the monster, Mr. Malloy,” Peterson said as he stood in the doorway to the room. “If it had come out of hiding, you’d be dead now.”
“Spoken like a true Marine,” Malloy said, smiling.
“Nope, just the opposite,” Peterson continued. He stepped over to the bed and looked at Freeman. “How are you doing today, Ben?”
“As good as can be expected, Frank.”
“So what do we do?” Malloy asked. “Oh, and you can call me Mike.”
“The first thing is we get more fire power,” Peterson said. “We need handguns and automatic weapons that can stop a tank. This creature isn’t going to be easy to kill. That’s why it’s survived for so long.”
“I’ve got a Smith & Wesson .50 caliber magnum revolver on order,” Freeman said.
“I’m glad to see you took my advice. Did you order it through Buddy Rogers?”
Freeman nodded with surprise in his eyes.
“You forget I was a cop,” Peterson said. “I know about Buddy, you, and Malloy. I gathered every piece of information I could on the three of you before I quit. I want to know who I’m going into battle with.”
“Buddy’s not involved in this,” Freeman said.
“He is now. I talked to him this morning on the telephone. He’d already seen the news about your wife being murdered and you being in the hospital. He wasn’t a happy camper. Buddy told me that he offered his help and you refused it. He’s going to have some words with you at the next meeting.”
“When will that be?”
“He’ll get the revolver in a few days and bring it over to the condo,” Peterson said. He looked from Freeman to Malloy and back again. “Buddy’s determined to be part of the team, and I think we can use him.”
“I didn’t want Buddy to risk his life for me.”
“You saved his ass in Nam, and he feels that he owes you. He won’t be satisfied until he pays you back in some way. Killing this creature is how he intends to do it.”
“I know Buddy,” Malloy said. “They don’t come any tougher.”
“So we now have four in our team,” Peterson said. “That makes the odds a little better.”
“For killing the quai vat?” Freeman asked.
“That and coming out of this alive,” Peterson said with a shit-eating grin on his face.
Malloy stuck his right hand out over the tray of food. Freeman knew instantly what the sign meant and placed his hand on top of his brother-in-law’s. Peterson’s grin grew bigger as he laid his hand on top of theirs.
“Semper Fi,” he said.
“Semper Fi,” Malloy and Freeman repeated.
The seventh day of November
The lawn of the cemetery was freshly cut with the smell of grass in the air. There was a clear sky above, and the bright sun sent its warmth to the large crowd of people standing around the opened grave site. All were dressed in either black suits or dresses. The funeral for Sheila Freeman had drawn even more people than her husband could’ve imagined.
Freeman figured seventy-five to a hundred individuals were huddled around the graves of Sheila and Betty. The ex-tunnel rat was seated in a wheelchair as he listened to the Reverend Jim Seagraves give the eulogy. Behind him, as if they were bodyguards, stood Mike Malloy, Frank Peterson and Buddy Rogers. Freeman tried not to think about the bodies in the two coffins. He wanted to remember his wife and Betty has they had been in life, not in death.
Finishing with the eulogy, Reverend Seagraves stepped over to where Freeman was seated and leaned down toward him.
“Your wife was greatly loved by the members of our congregation,” Seagraves said as he placed his hand gently Freeman’s shoulder. Then the Reverend leaned even closer and said something in a low voice so the other people couldn’t hear. “Kill the son-of-a-bitch who did this, Ben.”
Freeman stared up at the minister, surprised at the unexpected statement. Not able to find the right words to convey his emotions, he simply nodded.
The Reverend then looked at Malloy and said, “Watch his back, Michael.”
“Yes, sir,” Malloy said, nodding like a little boy.
As the Reverend left to go back to his car, the church-goers began to offer their sympathy to Freeman, stopping in front of him and saying a few words of kindness. Ed and Eileen Kulczynski were the last ones to offer their condolences. It took thirty minutes, but the crowd eventually began to disperse and head back to their vehicles.
“Do you want to stay a while?” Malloy asked his brother-in-law.
“No, I’ll come back when I’m able to drive,” Freeman said.
Frank Peterson began to push the wheelchair through the grass, heading to where the black SUV was parked. Malloy and Buddy Rogers trailed behind. When they reached the SUV, Peterson opened the door on the passenger’s side and helped Freeman to climb in. He then folded the
wheelchair and stuck it into the back of the vehicle as Malloy and Rogers got into the rear seats.
Pulling open the driver’s door, Peterson looked at everyone inside the SUV and smiled. “At least we have God on our side,” he said.
“Don’t count on it,” Malloy replied.
A Final Taste of Blood Page 7