I turned around and began to sprint away from him. While glancing back at The Legend, I lost my footing and stumbled into an open grave. However, it wasn't six feet deep. It was a continuous hole with no end in sight. I frantically plummeted through the endless pit. Suddenly I noticed the bottom and was nearing it at breakneck speeds. There was no way to avoid the impact. I was moments away. Just as I neared my demise, I jolted out of my sleep.
I awoke to find myself back inside the manager's office lying on the dusty floor. I gathered myself together, stood up and brushed myself off. The series of nightmares and hallucinations suddenly came into light. It was a directive being conveyed to me. It was what this city longed for. I was no longer Duane; "I am The Legend!"
After gently removing the tattered ensemble from the manikin on the movie display, I tucked it underneath my left arm and exited the abandoned theater. Dark clouds are rolling into the city. I glanced at the time on my cellphone; it’s minutes after eight o'clock pm.
Downtown is lively on this Friday, July 4th night. The streets are packed with festive residents headed to the fireworks display at the harbor. I jostled past them and made my way to the subway station.
The train rumbled to my stop then came to a screeching halt. After the double doors parted, I stepped off then headed up the stairs to the exit. I was met by a heavy storm. I treaded several blocks until I came upon Delancey’s dry cleaners. The metal rolling gate was down and locked. The red neon vertical sign was left on. The "D's" still flickered. I went into the alley and headed to the rear of the establishment. I sifted in my pocket and hoped the key still worked. The floodlights on top of the door gave me some visibility. After putting the key into the deadbolt lock, it turned and I was able to gain entry. Even the passcode to the alarm system was unchanged.
I flipped the light switch and the fluorescent bulbs began to crack and flicker. Seconds later the dry cleaners was illuminated and I noticed the front of the store; the counter and the replaced storefront glass door. The last time I was in here she was murdered. For a moment I was taken aback but my task suddenly came back to mind.
I headed to the hefty vintage black sewing machine that Mr. Delancey refuses to replace. "It's been in the family business for forty years," he once told me. A roll of white thread was already loaded into the machine. I grabbed the metal stood and began to work.
The aged machined rumbled as it punched the thread through the moth-eaten ensemble. The white stitching contrasted with the black but I wasn't competing in a fashion show. As long as the tears were sewn, I was content. I also altered the ensemble to fit me. With this black mask and cloak, I can use the shadows to conceal myself and reveal myself like a ghost; just like The Legend did in the comic book. I know how fear works now and I can use it to coerce. It was now time.
I peered at Hoytsworth's girlfriend's apartment from the roof across the street. A breeze in the night sky caused my cloak to fluctuate conjointly with it. The perpetual rain tapered off for the moment. A burgundy Buick Regal suddenly screeched into the block and veered into a vacant parking spot. It was Hoyt. He sounded his horn three times and seconds later his girlfriend scampered down the front steps. She wore a close-fitting purple dress that revealed much of her cleavage. A matching handbag was fixed underneath her left arm. She got into the passenger seat and the Regal sped down the street. Tonight, on the 4th of July, an acclaimed funk band is performing at the P Street Club. I came upon the tickets to the party in Hoytsworth's pants pocket. I was convinced he'd keep to his engagement.
Hoytsworth clenched his girlfriend's hand and made a mad-dash to the nightclub. He was trying to prevent his red velvet blazer and matching mohawk from getting ruined by the rain. Security admitted him in after he was frisked. While peering through the skylight, I lost sight of him amongst the animated partygoers. The dim lighting inside wasn't helpful either.
I surveyed the crowd thoroughly and still couldn't catch sight of him. I then remembered the phone number I'd gotten from the caller ID. I dialed his number.
I suddenly perceived a man decked in a red velvet blazer and black leather pants hoist his illuminating cellphone to his ear. He posed amongst the partygoers in the center of the dance floor. I found the illusive Hoytsworth that no other detective in Capitol City could. I slapped the phone shut and kept an eye on him.
Security frisked all the patrons before they were admitted into the establishment. He couldn't possibly be armed. Hoytsworth's been running long enough; it was time to bring him in.
I picked up a loose brick from the roof and, with much vigor, pitched it at him through the skylight. The shattering glass sent the partygoers rushing off the dance floor. They screamed and hollered while scrambling for safety. Hoytsworth ditched his girlfriend and also darted off the dance floor as the brick just missed him. He glanced up at the skylight and found a dark caped figure standing on the roof and peering at him with flaming red eyes. "What the fuck?" He uttered then bolted out a rear door.
The back door led Hoytsworth to a rear alley. He bustled out and began sprinting towards the street. He's panting heavily. Hoytsworth suddenly got an earful of a loud grating squeal. He glanced back and caught me scaling down the steel fire escape. His gator shoes gave him little grip on the wet concrete surface. While looking behind him, he slipped in a puddle and plummeted to the ground. Before he could get back to his feet, he caught glimpse of the dark caped figure sprinting towards him.
Hoytsworth hopped back onto his feet and darted towards his car. He was suddenly daunted when he noticed all four tires slashed. I couldn't allow him to speed off in his Buick Regal again. "Got-Dammit!" Hoytsworth barked. He then began sprinting towards the elevated train station. He scampered up the steps and suddenly slipped on a discarded hamburger wrapper. He managed to keep his balance after gripping the banister and continued up.
There were no employees inside the station booth. Hoytsworth hurdled over the turnstile. Once on the platform he gawked at the entrance and waited for my arrival. He no longer burdened himself with ruining his disco attire in the rain. He quivered on the platform as the storm drenched him. His fists were balled as if he were ready for a fight. His mohawk toppled over and the red die ran down his face. Suddenly the sound of thunder caused Hoytsworth to lurch.
"It's over Hoyt." I growled. The thunder distracted him long enough to allow me to sneak up behind him.
"Wh... Who... Who are you?" He stammered after abruptly pivoting around. I clenched my mask and snatched it off.
"You stripped me of my pay, violated my personal space and took the life of the sole person that kept me balanced!"
"NO! Not you..." He muttered. "I thought you were de... I KILLED YOU!"
"That was your mistake. Instead of putting two more bullets into her, you should've put them into me!"
Suddenly a distant air horn reverberated throughout the station. Hoytsworth glanced down the dark tracks and noticed the headlights of the elevated train nearing. At that moment, he swiftly lunged towards me and tackled me onto the platform. My head was hung over the tracks and he pinned my neck down with his forearm. The rushing train was seconds away. I made attempts to break his mount before I was decapitated but his awkward hold made it difficult. I wrestled with him as the train careened into the station. In a last ditched effort, I firmly kicked Hoytsworth off me and moved out of the path of the surging train a half second before it took my head. Hoytsworth landed on his back. Just as he made it back onto his feet, I dashed towards him and pelted him in the jaw with a feral right hook. It made a deep cracking sound and he was rendered unconscious. He collapsed onto the platform and lied sprawled on the ground. I got on top of him, clenched his blazer and began whaling his face with right hooks. I was enraged and wanted to inflict him with deep pain. I wanted to kill him. Although he was out cold, I persisted to pommel him. Suddenly, in a puddle besides us, I caught sight of my reflection. I was taken aback. I looked like a monster; like some kind of demon. It stopped me in the middle of a str
ike. “Geezus, what am I doing?”
While standing in a shadowy corner, I watched as the police officers escorted the handcuffed Hoytsworth to the transport wagon. Detective Wu paced behind them. Her business card came in handy after all. Finally, it was over.
Suddenly, through the iron beam structure below, supporting the elevated station, I caught sight of a figure on the street beneath me. It was a female, sporting a white spring dress with orange flowers on it, sauntering away from me. She suddenly stopped, pivoted back and glanced up at me. It was Lolani. She appeared to be happy; her radiant smile. I smiled back then seconds later she faded away. I miss her so much.
"So what do I call you? Duane or Legend?" Detective Wu inquired. She requested to confer with me. Initially I thought it was a dragnet being that Detective Bernhardt had an arrest warrant issued for me. Detective Wu, however, assured me it wasn't. We converged discreetly in an alley near her police station.
"Legend." I replied.
"First I want to thank you for helping me close this homicide case. I'm very sorry for your loss."
"You're welcome."
"I asked you to meet with because I need a favor. I was wondering… Maybe we could form some type of a partnership. I figure you can go places I can't and do things I can't do. We can exchange info and help each other out."
"I don't know detective."
"You know the department offers cash rewards to citizens that help close homicide cases."
"I'll think about it." I replied brushing her off. I then began to saunter away from her.
"C'mon, you telling me you're going to turn down money? We're talking thousands of dollars to be a confidential informant! You can't help out a rookie detective?" She pleaded.
"I'll think about it." I repeated.
"Well can you think quickly?" She barked as I continued to pace further. "I'm working this case with a Sex Crimes detective and I was wondering if you could help us with it! There is a serial killer that's been targeting teenage prostitutes! He rapes the victims then shoots them in the chest!" Suddenly I recalled the homicide that occurred outside my apartment and it stopped me dead in my tracks. The guilt of not helping the victim resurfaced.
"Do you know what he looks like?" I growled while slightly pivoting back towards her.
"Yes. One of his victims lived long enough to tell me. He's a middle aged white male, about six feet tall, two hundred and fifty pounds. He has a full white beard. He wore a black skull cap on his head. During the time of the attack he was wearing a long beige trench coat." She conveyed. The description matched the man I witnessed assaulting the seventeen year old prostitute to a tee. "So does this mean you're going to help us?" She inquired.
"Maybe just this one time, detective."
"We all have wretched memories."
Prelude
"It's been five months. Five months since my first encounter with him. The Legend! Yeah, I was up to no good but I was no murderer. I was just a knock-around guy for this local drug dealer. You owed him money, I'll get it. You short changed him, I'll beat you down. You looked at him wrong, I'll break your legs. But when he wanted me to take someone out, that was crossing the line. We all have morals and that's mine.
The crew hated me for that. They thought I was soft. So, they wanted to teach me a lesson. They set me up. ‘Told me about this junkie that owed the boss some money. They said she's been ducking him. They wanted me to push her around a bit. So I got her address and went to her apartment. The front door was locked so I kicked it in. When I got inside, there was blood everywhere. I mean EVERYWHERE. Ceiling, windows, walls, floor, television, sofa, EVERYWHERE. Her body was battered up. Whoever did this was a monster. My instincts told me to get the hell outta there. By the time I ran out into the hallway, her neighbors were already at their doors peeking out. I guess they heard me kick her door down and wanted to know what all the ruckus was.
I didn't make it a city block. By the time I got outside, squad cars were pulling up. I ran but with my luck some rookie, fresh out of the academy and in the best shape of his life, caught me. The neighbors told the police they saw me leaving the place. No matter how long the cops interrogated me, I refused to tell them I killed her. I didn't. But I still got pinned for the rap.
One day, while sitting in jail, a cellmate told me he heard my charges got dropped. He said the police were going to release me. He wasn't lying, they let me go. There I was thinking I was going away for life but I was given a second chance. Later on that night, while walking up the front steps to my apartment building, he approached me. Those red eyes. It scared the crap outta me. He called my name. That growl; I’ll never forget it. His voice sent chills down my spine. I caught wind that just before the lady got battered up, she ripped a button off her killer's shirt. The Legend found the button near the area where her body was lying. He somehow traced the button back to a shirt that belonged to a guy they call Bailey. Bailey wore these fancy silk Italian shirts. When he found Bailey, I heard he beat Bailey up so bad Bailey confessed. Then I was let go. A little button got me off a life sentence. Unbelievable!
That night The Legend told me that I had received a 'Second chance at life.' He said to 'Make it count.' I walked away from the street life. I own a barbershop and everything in this shop is legit. Those eyes, I'll never forget them. Call me paranoid but every once in a while I see those eyes looking down at me from a rooftop. Like he's watching me. Making sure I don't stray. Well, he has nothing to worry about."
- Ludlow the Barber
Victim number eleven. She was discarded in a narrow dark alleyway between 18th and 19th Street; left on top of a pile of filthy black garbage bags. The serial killer shows no signs of remorse for them.
Suddenly her chest languidly rose, then set. She peered at me with her gaping green eyes. She was in a state of moribund. It emitted eerie feel. I gently pulled the mask from my head; I’m the last person she’ll see alive. “You’ll be at rest soon.” I comforted her. Seconds later her chest stopped rising but she persisted to stare at me. She succumbed to the gunshot wound. I caressed her eyelids closed. The guilt is too much to bear. This could’ve been prevented if I had only called the police that night.
I started looking over the body for a lead. She's just like the others; late teens and by her outfit, I'd bet money she was prostitute. There were hemorrhages forming around her eyes, mouth, stomach and wrists. Her knuckles were swollen and there appears to be specks of blood underneath her fingernails; must've came from fighting back. Her underwear was torn. It wasn't hard to catch because her silver colored skirt barely went past her groin. Then I noticed it. The infamous single gunshot wound to the chest. I continued to search her and found smudged motor oil on the bottom of her clear platform shoes. There's an auto mechanic garage a few blocks from here. I suddenly got an earful of sirens wailing. My investigation has come to an end. I left the victim to pursue my lead.
The auto mechanic garage was closed for the night but the ladies of the evening posed out front and solicited for dates. They're all dressed just as sleazy as the victim. The squad cars raced past them; blaring sirens and igniting the block with red and blue strobe lights. It wasn't too long before they put two and two together; one of their own has just become the eleventh victim to the serial killer. The ladies abandoned their posts and trotted to the subway station in their clear platform shoes.
I suddenly noticed a security camera mounted on the auto mechanic garage that was angled in the vicinity where the women were soliciting. It seemed likely it grabbed something pertinent. I decided to look in on it.
A rear window was left unlocked. It was large enough for me to slip inside. I'm convinced this place is rigged with a silent alarm system so I had no intentions to linger around. I came upon a door with the decals "Manager's Office" adhered to it. The surveillance footage would most likely be in there. I clenched the handle but it wouldn't budge. A swift swipe with my pocket knife granted me entry into the office.
The security camer
as continued to record. I rewound the footage until I spotted the victim posing with her hands resting on her hips in front of the garage. A vintage wood paneled station wagon, with a "For Sale" sign adhered to the rear window, pulled up just before her. She approached the passenger side window with an erotic gait in her steps. She leaned inside and the two engaged in a brief conversation. I assumed they came to an agreement when she set foot in the vehicle. Her door wasn't even completely shut before he suddenly peeled off. The station wagon was too far from the security camera to make out the license plate number. However, wood paneled station wagons are scarce nowadays.
Just about a year and a half has passed since the first victim and ten more has followed. The serial killer has single-handedly brought this city down onto its knees. Although all of the victims have been prostitutes, females dressed in club attire feel they might be mistaken for one. They are now reluctant to gallivant through the streets during the evening hour. The nightlife establishments have taken a financial hit. Many of the sleazy downtown clubs that once hosted hundreds of patrons are now boarded up. The after-hours diners are now closed before dark. The many prostitutes that solicited Johns in the back alleys are now scarce. Police patrols are heightened. In fact, the majority of people seen outside during the late night hours are officers. Some roam the streets and alleys on foot, others are in squad cars.
The Legend Page 6