A neighbor informed Detective Wu he heard a homicidal commotion from the apartment a week ago. When it was over he glanced out of his peephole and noticed a burly male fleeing out the front door. "The witness described the suspect as 'Six foot six, and easily four hundred pounds.' He said the suspect was solid muscle, Like a rock!' The lower half of his face was covered with some type of skull bandana mask." Detective Wu quoted from her notepad. "No stab wounds or gunshot wounds. Just blunt trauma throughout his body." She added.
"I'll see what I can find detective."
It's now ten o'clock in the evening. The storm is persistent. Sal, the bartender, normally lights a Cuban at this time in the alley behind the “Lucky Clover Bar.” I decided drop in on him. He overhears conversations between local hustlers while he serves them at the counter. He's been helpful in the past. I'm betting on him being of some use now.
"Geezus! You scared me. Maybe you should start wearing cowbells around your neck. You appearing out of thin air isn't good for my health." Sal uttered after he caught sight of me emerging from the dark alley.
"Neither are those Cubans."
"Yeah well, they make me happy. Everyone could use some joy in this part of town."
"You heard about the guy beaten to death over on 19th."
"I had a feelin' that's what your visit is about. I heard his name was 'Rawlins.' He was a local gambling junkie. They said Rawlins lost a lot of money from off track betting and couldn't pay his rent. The Downtown Fallen Saints sharked him a couple thousands but the poor guy was unable to pay them back in time. Rawlins was trying to split town but the gang caught wind of it. Sent Tiago to kill'em."
"Tiago?"
"Yeah, Tiago. You haven't heard of him? The other day I heard this guy that runs with the Downtown Fallen Saints saying sum'tin bout they hired this contract killer from Brazil. They say his name is Tiago. Now if it's the same Tiago ‘Night, Night’ Neves that's been in the news last year then he's gonna be a problem. You remember, that Brazilian mixed martial artist. He started taking that experimental steroid ‘Teston-50’ after being on that eight fight losing streak. His slump suddenly ended and soon Tiago soared to the top ranks. Officials started questioning his sudden hulking physique. That random drug test exploited him and he was disqualified from competing. Word is Tiago developed an addiction to the steroid and he's still using it even though he's banned from fighting. Tiago became desperate for money and started working as hired muscle for local Brazilian mobs. If that's the same Tiago, it looks like he made his way to the states. Be careful with this one Legend." Sal conveyed.
"You got anything else for me Sal?" I inquired.
"Nope. That's all I got big guy."
Stick up boys that run with the Fallen Saints tend to post up by the subway station on Congress Avenue to wait for an unsuspecting victim to rob. It was a long shot, but I was hoping they'd be out tonight. If I could put them through the wringer I might be able to get at least one to squeal.
"I don't know about this Harding. The cops have been patrolling heavily ‘round here. This might be a bad idea." One of the gang members mumbled to the other. Both are sporting the customary black leather vests but only one has "Fallen Saints" spray painted on the back. The other was left blank. Black balaclava ski masks were rolled up on top of their heads. They're waiting in the narrow alleyway across the street from the Congress Avenue subway station. Every few seconds they peek from behind the corner searching for an easy score.
"Shut up Roscoe! Only one squad car has come by in the past hour. Do you wanna join the gang or be a prospect for the rest of your life? We'll jump the first guy that comes out, take his wallet and split. I've done this hundreds of times. Trust me. After tonight you'll be officially initiated into the Fallen Saints."
"Ahhh... All right... Harding." He reluctantly responded.
Roscoe, the timid one, was my best bet. Harding seemed seasoned and would be harder to crack open. I'm going to have to take him out first and use him to intimidate Roscoe.
Suddenly a middle-aged male sporting a business suit bustled up the steps of the subway station with his briefcase held above his head. He began treading through the rain towards the alley where the two gang members were discreetly waiting.
"Here we go! This guy looks like he's got money!" Harding blurted while yanking his ski mask over his face.
"Not tonight!" I growled. The Fallen Saints were so preoccupied by the middle-aged male they didn't even catch the ambush. I made my way right behind the two without being noticed. Harding lurched then spun around just in time to catch a right hook into his jaw. I followed with a left uppercut into his chest. He buckled over while gasping for air. He then plummeted onto the ground.
"Oh my lawd!" The middle-aged male uttered as he stepped into the alley just in time to witness Harding get pommeled.
"Find another way home. And stay away from dark alleys." I growled.
"Yeee... Yessir!" He nodded then fled towards the street.
Roscoe stood there quivering. His eyes widened as I approached him. He then snatched the ski mask from on top his head, faltered to his knees and clenched his hands together.
"Please, don't hurt me!" Roscoe pleaded.
"Where's Tiago?"
"Who?"
"The guy that killed Rawlins."
"Rawlins... Oh the gamblin' junkie... That guy?"
"Yeah him. Where is he?"
"I don't..."
"Think wisely before you answer my question." I advised him while cracking my knuckles.
"I... I... Don't know where he is. Seriously! But I heard this hustler has been coming up short on his drug sales. The boss thinks he's stealing money. He's put a hit out on him."
"Who's the hustler?" I growled.
"They call him 'Red.' He lives in the high-rise apartment building by the river on Presidential Drive."
“You better not be lying to me Roscoe. I’ll find you again and my next visit won’t be so cordial.” I growled. I then fled deeper into the dark alley and disappeared into the night.
Roscoe came through. I managed to get to “Red” before the hit was carried out. I see why he was given the handle “Red”; he’s a fair-complexioned scrawny male with a heavy rust colored beard. He verified the story and admitted to pocketing some of the profits he made from selling the boss’ drugs. “I stand on the corner for hours every night and all I get is nickel and dimes. With all the money the boss is making, I didn’t think he’d notice.” Red disclosed. He was right, the boss probably wouldn’t have noticed if Red hadn’t bought a $60,000 Mercedes sports car. Along with picking up floozies and throwing money away at the nightclubs, he practically announced to everyone he was swindling his boss. I informed him of the bounty on his head and told him to leave town. He packed a few things into a duffel bag then headed out of his apartment.
Moments later, the front door to ‘Red’s’ run-down riverfront apartment was pounded on. "OPEN UP!" A male’s voice barked in a deep Brazilian accent. No one responded to the door. "OPEN THE DOOR!" He continued. There was still no answer. The banging persisted until the door was suddenly knocked off of its hinges. It toppled to the unfurnished living room floor.
"Tiago!" I growled after he rushed into the apartment. The modest sized living room made him seem even more colossal. He wore a fitted black t-shirt that outlined his massive pectorals, biceps and triceps. The lower half of his face was concealed by a skull bandana mask. The myriad of tattoos on his broad neck stretched down to his tree trunk resembling forearms. The rumors about his build were spot-on.
"And you must be The Legend. Your reputation precedes you." Tiago uttered in his deep Brazilian accent.
“Did you kill Rawlins?"
"I’ve killed many people. I don’t bother keeping a list."
"I’m bringing you in." I growled.
"I highly doubt you’d be able to. Please, my friend, this doesn’t concern you. I strongly recommend you stay outta my way."
“That’s not going
to happen.”
“Well then, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Tiago advised.
Tiago suddenly charged towards me. He advanced swiftly for his size and each footstep made the room tremble. Once in arm's reach, I pitched a right hook at his squared jaw. He effortlessly deflected it and countered with a right uppercut into my chin. The weighted punch sent me careening into a wall. It staggered me and before I could regain my composure, Tiago clenched the back of my head with both hands and drove a leaping Muay Thai knee strike into my ribs. I suddenly got an earful of a deep cracking sound that was followed by excruciating pain. I went into survival mode and tried to fight my way off the wall. My attempts were useless against the skilled fighter. Every strike I pitched was countered by a masterful combination. No longer able to continue, I buckled over in pain and exhaustion. Like a trained fighter Tiago took advantage of my carelessness and swiftly pummeled me with a leaping knee strike into my face. Everything suddenly went dark.
I came to after feeling laden rain drops pelting my face. Once my eyesight regained its focus I realized Tiago was dangling me outside the shattered seventh floor apartment window by my cape. My mask was clenched in his other hand. "You should've just stayed out of my way..." He uttered then tossed my mask out of the window. It drifted with the storm's breeze until it settled in the George Washington River below. "...Now you must die!" Tiago concluded then released his grip on my cape. The fabric ran through his massive hand and I plummeted seven stories into the surging river.
The night attracts lawlessness. It not only lures the sewer rats onto the streets but the hooligans as well. It lures the muggers into the back alleys; they wait in the dark for an unsuspecting victim to stumble into the shortcut. It lures cat burglars out and conceals them as they scale the fire escapes. It allows the junkies to get a fix in a dark corner. Even the most prudent police officer can easily lose sight of the fleeing purse snatcher ducking down an unlit street. Most homicides occur in the night because it hides the assailant as he skulks away. This is my predicament. My body is battered. I can hardly hold myself up. I've made many enemies and I have to navigate through these nightly perils to find refuge.
Clenching my mask with my right hand and balancing myself against the brick building walls with my left, I staggered through the back alleys. Using what's left of the night, I discreetly made my way through the downtown streets. My getup was torn after the river current hammered me along the vertical stacks of columned sea rocks.
The back door to an unsanctioned brothel suddenly swung open. '80s funk music and red neon lights spilled into the alley. I swiftly crouched behind a dumpster just as an intoxicated teenage John guided an older floozy out. The pair was too inebriate to notice me ducking down. They headed towards the street then the two hailed a cab. I continued my harrowing trek once they were out of sight.
Minutes later I came upon three muggers pummeling a victim with punches and kicks while he lied helplessly in the alley. Once his pockets were picked, the hooligans began to cackle as they made good their escape. I made my way past the victim while he was sprawled on the ground unconscious. At first, the victim resembled me. It emitted an eerie feeling. At second glance, however, I noticed he was a much older man. By the looks of his clothing, he appeared to be a vagrant. His sleeves were rolled up and he had track marks on both arms. I’d bet he was probably trying to cop some heroin but got robbed instead.
After an hour of staggering through the formidable downtown streets, I arrived at Doctor MacDougal's back alley clinic. He and I have fostered a rapport after I saved his life. Since then he’s been treating the wounds I’ve received on the streets. It’s been just over a year since I last saw him. I hoped the patronage was still extended.
"I DON'T KEEP MONEY HERE!" Doctor MacDougal hollered from inside after I banged on his basement office door.
"I need your help doctor." I growled while exerting much strength to keep myself propped up against the wall. The door suddenly cracked open and a pair of bifocal glasses peered at me.
"Legend!" He blurted and emphatically yanked the door open.
Unable to muster up any more strength, I collapsed in his direction. The old doctor caught me and faltered back. He managed to balance himself and dragged me inside.
Doctor MacDougal carried me through his modest sized medical facility; past the outdated, dingy and rusted instruments and equipment. He once mentioned he recovered them from a dumpster behind a neighborhood hospital. There is a moldy stench in his basement. His assistant, seated at a computer, gawked at us while clenching the office chair arms as we made our way past her. The doctor navigated around three buckets catching water from a leaky ceiling and headed towards a door in the back of his office.
Roaches scattered when he flicked a light switch in a walk-in closet converted into a triage room. There were snap traps placed in front of rat sized burrows in the walls. He placed me on a hospital bed. I was once hesitant to be treated in a filthy hole like this but what options did I have. I can't exactly walk into a hospital wearing this cloak and mask without drawing attention to myself. Besides there are half a handful of people I trust in this city and Doctor MacDougal is one of them.
"What happened to you?" The doctor asked.
"I was in a fight." I responded.
"A fight? Who'd you fight, a dump truck?"
After removing my ensemble, the doctor took x-ray photos of my body. The dated machine was slow, loud and trembled. I didn't even think it would work properly. "I'm surprised you managed to walk all this way," the doctor uttered while holding up the x-ray photo underneath a fluorescent light. "You're going to need weeks to heal." The doctor then injected me with a sedative and soon afterwards I began falling out.
"Four years ago I met The Legend for the first time. He saved my life." Just before the sedative put me completely under, I overheard the doctor talking to his assistant. "I heard stories about him from patients but I didn't believe them. I thought it was just some urban folklore. Meeting him is something I will never forget and I'm glad he was there for me.
One night my wife and I went out to dinner celebrating her graduation from college. She was proud of herself and so was I. It's something she always wanted to do but wasn't able to because of the children she had from her previous boyfriend. We both had too much to drink that night. She suggested we take a cab home but my ego wouldn't allow it. I thought I was capable of driving home but I was wrong. After ten minutes of speeding through traffic, my vision played tricks on me. I swerved off the road and struck a utility pole.
My wife suffered from severe back pains and headaches after the accident. She was prescribed painkillers by her doctor. But soon I started noticing she was getting addicted to them. She asked me steal medication from the hospital I was working in. I did it out of guilt. It was my fault that we crashed. However, supplying her habits caught up to me. Eventually I got caught and my medical license was revoked.
One night my wife asked me to drive her somewhere where she could get more pills. I didn't want to at first but I hated seeing her suffering. So I drove her to the place. When I pulled up she said she would be right back. I wanted to go with her but she told me to stay in the car. She got out and walked into a dark alley. That was the last time I saw her alive.
A few minutes later I heard five gunshots and saw the muzzle flashes. I got out the car and ran into the alley. She was lying on the ground bleeding from her face and stomach. I then noticed three guys running from her body. I held her head tightly against my chest and pleaded to God to let her live. But I knew deep down there was no way she could come back from those gunshot wounds.
I fell into a deep depression. If I didn't drive drunk that night, my wife would still be alive. I loved my wife more than anything and couldn't get the guilt out of my head.
A couple days later a Capitol City homicide detective named Wu told me the murderers were caught. I thought once they were arrested everything would get better. But I was wrong. Nothing chan
ged. I still missed her and I blamed myself for her passing.
One night I sat in my dark apartment with a three fifty seven magnum in one hand and a finished bottle of Jack in the other. I couldn't go on any longer and I wanted to end my depression. I cocked the hammer and put the gun to my head. I started crying and said a prayer. I asked God for forgiveness. Suddenly, in the corner of the room, I saw a figure walking towards me. He was dressed in all black with a cloak and mask. His eyes… I’ll never forget them. They were red and glowed in the dark like flames. He slowly approached me and gently pulled the pistol from my head. He took it out of my hand and said 'Trust me, it gets better.' For some reason I believed him. He sounded genuine and I felt like he knew exactly what I was going through. He then turned around and disappeared into the dark room.
The following morning I got in touch with a psych friend of mine and I confided in him. We spoke for hours. He even invited me to sit in some of his seminars. He also introduced me to a priest that helped me out as well. I still attend his church to this day. It was exactly like The Legend said, it gotten better. I still missed her but I was no longer depressed. Even though I still wish my wife was here, I am thankful The Legend saved my life..."
I spent the last five nights inside the back room. The doctor kept the door locked so his patients wouldn't wonder in. There’s a small black and white box television on a table besides the bed. Two nights ago the local news reported a homicide that occurred downtown. The male was found beaten to death in an alley behind Presidential Drive. Reporters say he went by the handle "Red."
"Duane, how have you been? I haven't heard from you in days." Detective Wu inquired after I answered my cellphone.
The Legend Page 10