"Fine." I responded.
"Have you found anything on the homicide case?"
"I'm still working on it."
"Well, be careful."
"I will."
After shutting my cell phone, the door to the provisional triage room slowly gaped and the pair of bifocals peered inside. ”Are you on the phone?” The doctor inquired. I shook my head.
"This is a sedative I'm giving you. Inject four ccs before you go to bed. It should help you fall asleep. It's the best I can do. I can't write prescriptions." The doctor directed while handing me two one ounce vials with a clear liquid inside and a packaged syringe. “All right, you’re all set. Stop by if you need anything?”
"Thanks doctor." I uttered then left the clinic.
Night after night I read the headlines on the daily newspapers; "Mother Of Six Gunned Down In Cross-fire," "Rival Drug Dealer Shot Thirteen Times At Red Light," "Grandmother Killed When Bullets Rang Through Bedroom Window," "Man Stabbed To Death For Refusing To Give Muggers Wallet." It's been a month since my brush with Tiago. My body is still broken. The city's homicides make the front page. Every day I gaze at the paper frustrated. Lives are being taken; most are innocent. Yet there is nothing I can do about it.
Another week has past. There still hasn't been any progress in my health. I haven't used the sedative the doctor handed me. I don't deserve to sleep. Not while the city is running amok. My frustration continues to grow as the piles of newspapers I collected, headlining the city’s homicides, steadily gets higher.
It's been two months. I don’t know how much longer I can sit back and allow this to persist. Every night another newspaper is added to the pile. Word has disseminated to every street corner, barbershop and back alley pub; The Legend has been killed.
On this side of town the rain is perpetual. But tonight is really not showing any mercy. I picked up the daily paper and read the headlines. "Lady Gunned Down Inside Of Dry Cleaners." Again? I sifted through the newspaper pages until I found the article. "... A female is gunned down and another male is holding on as gunmen barraged into the cleaners and shot the couple..." There is portrait of the victim. The resemblance was ghostly. "Wha... What? Lolani?" This had to be a misprint. That homicide was almost seven years ago. My fingers suddenly went numb. The pages from the newspaper began to slip from my hands and glided onto the floor. Suddenly a comic book slipped out from the paper and fell in between my feet. It was sheathed inside a sealed plastic sleeve and the cover page was faced down. I retrieved it from the floor and turned it over. “The Urban Legend.”
Just then, from the corner of my eye, I noticed a figure appear in the dark corner of the room. "Lolani?" I gasped. She's wearing her angelic white spring dress. She glanced at me with a full smile. She looked radiant. "No... It can't be... The hallucinations... It's the hallucinations!" I uttered. Suddenly a storefront window door appeared behind her and a ski masked gunman violently bashed it open with his shoulder. It shattered and shards of glass clashed onto the white vinyl tile. Her joyous facial expression became fearful. She turned to me for help. She reached for my hand. I tried to get to her in time but the gunman fired his sawed-off rifle before I could shield her. The gunman then darted out of the door. Lolani bawled then collapsed onto the floor. Her cries brought back the guilt I've been holding in. I kneeled besides her, clenched her body and rested her face against my chest. She gazed at me as tears ran down her cheeks. Seconds later she was still and her eyes slowly shut. Then she faded away in my arms.
The anger I learned to suppress was resurfacing. Although I haven't healed from my encounter with Tiago, I could no longer sit around while the city ran rampant. I ripped the bandages off my body and put on my black hoodie. I snatched a stack of newspapers and duct tape and headed to a local park.
It's minutes after midnight. I treaded through the downtown streets amidst the storm. After pacing past the junkies, the pushers and the ladies of the evening, I arrived at the Theodore Roosevelt Community Park. I found a sturdy a tree that sheltered me with its leaves. I began taping the newspaper pages to the trunk. The storm continued. Cracks of lighting illuminated the black sky. They were followed by distance roars of thunder. When the tree was padded with enough pages, I began pelting the makeshift punching bag with hooks, jabs, front and side kicks. I threw brute elbow and knee strikes. My eyes were flaming red; filled with madness and rancorous. I wasn't training myself like the other nights but getting used to the agony of fighting with a broken body. Although every strike was vitally painful it was imperative that I became familiar with it. Tiago needed to be stopped and it had to be at the hands of The Legend.
It's been about seven years yet my key to the dry cleaners still works. The code to the alarm system hasn't changed either. Mr. Delancey has passed away and his son now runs the business. He's kept the family’s vintage sewing machine. I sat on the rusty metal stool and began stitching up the tears in my ensemble. The aged machine growled as it punched the white thread through. I taped the rest of the newspaper pages around my body to help soften the blows I was about to receive. With my cloak back on, I aggressively scoured the downtown streets in search of Tiago. It's time for The Legend's resurrection.
"...His name is Quinnclay!" A junkie squealed after a brief interrogation. I caught him buying heroin from the Fallen Saints. He ducked in an alley and was about shoot up. I snatched him up before he was able to. It didn't take long for him to drop the name of the Fallen Saints’ leader. He also told me where I could find him. "He usually hangs out at Sterling's Pool Hall on Ninth Street."
“What does he look like?” I inquired.
“He’s a slim nerdy looking guy. No more than five foot eight. He always sports this short spiky hairstyle and wears these designer geeky looking glasses. Oh… He never leaves his apartment without his black leather blazer.”
For the last hour I've been watching Quinnclay through the window of the pool hall from an adjacent rooftop. He's on the top floor of the three story brick building. He's playing with three other guys at a table just by the rear window. He isn't armed but his three companions are.
Quinnclay suddenly rested his pool stick against the table, sifted inside his black leather blazer and retrieved a cellphone from an inner pocket. He flipped the phone open and answered it. Seconds later he sauntered towards the rear window and glanced outside. The storm has tapered off. He lifted it open, climbed onto the fire escape and fixed the phone in-between his shoulder and right ear. He then fetched a pack of cigarettes from his rear pants pocket, clenched one against his lips and lit it up.
Quinnclay is now deep in his phone conversation. He's so engaged he didn't even catch me descending down the fire escape ladder behind him. Although he is speaking in some kind of cipher, it appears as if they are discussing a raid on one of his crack houses.
Just then Quinnclay flicked his cigarette into the dark alley below. He slammed his phone shut then turned around.
"What the...? I thought you were dead?" Quinnclay blurted after catching sight of the dark caped figure standing before him. He lurched back into the fire escape railing.
"Where can I find Tiago?"
" I’m not tellin’ you nuttin'!" He barked. I clenched his blazer and began to shove him over the railing. Quinnclay quickly gripped the banister and held on. The harder I shoved the sturdier his grip became. He glanced down into the alley with widened eyes. His heart palpitated against my knuckles. The gentle rain showered his face. He began to quiver and uttered, "Holy shit man! All right, all right! Don't drop me man! I'll tell ya!"
The absolute moon is peering through the passing storm clouds. A flash of lightning ignites the aphotic sky. Distant sounds of thunder are drawing closer. Gentle rain continued to pummel the city. I've been watching the apartment Quinnclay disclosed to me for some time now. The flickering luminescence from a television screen illuminated a room on the fifth floor. He's home. I wasn't certain if Quinnclay tipped him off or not. Either way, he was getting confronted
tonight.
The rear window was locked. I wrapped a portion of my cape around my right hand and pelted the window with a jab. A jagged fist-sized hole was made in the glass. I was certain the shatter would’ve brought him into the kitchen, however, seconds later he never appeared. I unfastened the latch, hoisted up the decrepit window and gained entry into an unkempt kitchen. The red vertical neon sign from Lacy’s Strip Club across the street gave some visible inside. The ceiling paint is chipped and falling. The vinyl tiles on the floors have lost its adhesiveness. There were plates on the counter with thick bones from eaten steaks. I continued on and sauntered through a hallway that led to the front room. As I drew closer I could hear the television. I got to the door and noticed the Brazilian fighter sitting on a worn red leather rocking armchair. His shirtless back is facing me and he hasn't noticed me yet. He's tottering back and forth causing the debilitated wooden floor to creak. He's deeply engaged in the sitcom being showed on the small box television. At second glance I realized it was the same box television that was lifted from my apartment years ago.
I started sauntering towards him. Each footstep made a noticeable creak against the floor. Tiago suddenly stopped rocking after catching an earful of the decrepit, aged, hardwood screeching. He turned back in his seat.
"...And from ashes a Phoenix shall rise..." Tiago uttered after perceiving the aphotic figure with flaming demonic eyes sauntering towards him. "I heard you managed to survive the fall. I’ll make sure you won’t survive this time." He added.
The colossal fighter lunged out of the seat. The hefty armchair toppled onto its side. He then stampeded towards me. The room clattered at every step. Once in proximity, Tiago pitched a right hook. I eluded his punch and redirected him into a wall behind me. The fighter collided into the unpainted drywall and pulverized it. Debris fell onto him. He momentarily lost his composure. It was the crowning juncture I needed. I darted towards him and jabbed him in the side of his neck with a syringe. Tiago felt the sharp pinch. He smacked my arm away from him and shoved me back.
"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU INJECT ME WITH?" He hollered while stroking his neck.
"It's a sedative." I growled. "It'll help you sleep."
Tiago's disgusted. He peered at me with maddened eyes, clenched teeth and readied fists. He took in deep breaths through his nose. Suddenly, the herculean fighter bolted towards me again. The room clattered. Once in earshot, he leaped up and pitched a roundhouse kick towards my face. I managed to elude the ferocious strike but before I could counter, Tiago used his momentum to follow with a wicked spinning elbow to my jaw. He connected and everything momentarily went dark. The strike hammered me across the room and onto the decrepit hardwood floor. I felt a sharp pain inside of my mouth. I caressed the area with my tongue and realized several molars were knocked out. I struggled onto my feet but before I could collect myself, I was pelted by a vigorous leaping knee strike into my ribs.
The newspaper padding was ineffective and didn't help at all. The pain shocked me. I faltered back into a wall and struggled to catch my breath. The room went silent and the only thing I could hear was a continuous ringing noise. The agony paralyzed me and I then buckled over to one knee and clinched my side.
I glanced up and noticed a blurred Tiago sauntering towards me. I was uncertain of my next move. The knee strike has stunned me and Tiago was nearing. I started to except defeat and brace myself for death. Just then, I could feel my heart rate increasing. It began to hammer against chest. Soon the pain I was feeling past. I was no longer in agony but becoming angry. I was becoming enraged. It was a nostalgic sensation. It was a feeling comparable to when I found out Lolani was killed.
When Tiago was within range, I pitched a violent uppercut into his chin. Tiago staggered back. I followed with a left cross and a wicked right hook. He plummeted to the floor baffled and unsure of where the vigor came from. I poised in the center of the room with the dark cape cascading down my shoulders, veiling my body and resting on the wooden floor in a perfect crescent. My flaming red eyes peered at him. He suddenly pressed his hands into the floor and lunged at me. Before I could react he snatched my ensemble, spun me around and pitched me into a wall. I was hurled through the sheetrock and it crumbled on top of me but I was unfazed. I sprang towards him and launched a wicked right hook into his left cheek. Tiago faltered back a few steps then balanced himself. He appeared baffled. He's never met an opponent who could go toe to toe with him. Not since he's been injecting the steroid. I didn't let up and charged Tiago. He immediately threw his hands up in defense. I battered him with vigorous combinations. I backed him into a wall and persisted to pound on him. I continued the onslaught until he saw a crowning juncture. Tiago weaved a right cross and my fist penetrated through the sheetrock behind him. My hand got snagged in the wall. The skilled fighter seized the opportunity and followed with an uppercut of his own. It connected into my chin and sent me back a couple steps. However, I was too enraged to even feel it.
We both continued to exchange blows. However, his strikes were weakening. The sedative was taking effect. Seconds later his guard lowered. He could barely hold his fists up. It gave me confidence and I persisted to whale on him with wicked hooks, crosses and uppercuts.
Tiago is slumped against the wall. His face is battered, bruised and bleeding. His left eye is swollen shut. He's now completely defenseless. “What... Kind of… Demon… Are you?” Tiago muttered. I clenched his neck and rammed his head through the unpainted drywall. Tiago buckled over then plummeted onto the floor. I grabbed his right ankle and dragged him to the center of the room. He's no longer putting up a fight. The blows stunned him and the sedative has weakened him.
I kneeled over Tiago and clenched his neck with my hands. "DIE!" I growled while strangling him. He squirmed and made attempts to roll me off but I wouldn't budge. The sedative has him moments away from being comatose. He's too weary to use a Brazilian Jujitsu move to separate himself from me. His stout neck delayed his demise but I was determined to squeeze the life out of him. His tongue began flailing out of his mouth as he tried to catch a breath. Veins in his forehead emerged as his complexion faded. His eyes were becoming glassy and bloodshot.
"CAPITOL CITY POLICE! OPEN UP!" An officer barked as he pommeled the apartment door with heavy knocks. The violent commotion must’ve caused neighboring tenants to dial 911. “OPEN THE DOOR OR IT’S COMING DOWN!” Another voice threated. I was suddenly snapped from my fury. I unclenched Tiago’s neck and he immediately inhaled deeply. He took in as much air his lungs were capable of. I was disoriented but managed scamper out of the room. I fled to the kitchen just as the front door was kicked in. I leaped out of the window, scaled up the fire escape and absconded into the night.
"Banned Brazilian Fighter Charged With Murders,” topped the front page of the morning paper. Quinnclay was also apprehended and charged with soliciting a contract killer. He, however, has one of the country’s finest criminal attorneys under his payroll and has beaten all previous conspiracy charges. I wouldn't be surprised if he beats this rap too.
On the ensuing night, Detective Wu sent me a text wanting to meet. Her Crown Victoria was idling in the alley when I arrived. She suddenly caught sight of the aphotic figure emerging from the darkness through her rearview mirror. She stepped out of the cruiser, unfurled her umbrella and met me at the rear of her car.
"Geezus Legend, you look terrible!" Detective Wu blurted as I staggered towards her.
"I'll be fine." I responded.
“Patrol officers found Tiago lying on his apartment floor beaten up. He has a fractured eye socket, skull and bruising around his neck consistent with strangulation. You know anything about that?”
“I might.”
“Gezz, I wonder how you pulled that off. Tiago’s enormous! I saw the damage in the apartment. You guys were really going at it? Maybe you need to get yourself checked out."
"I have been."
"By who? Some back alley doctor? Maybe you should see someone leg
it?" She advised while assisting me to the rear of her car. I rested against the trunk.
"All right detective." I responded brushing her off.
"You still miss her don't you?" Detective Wu suddenly inquired.
"I don't know."
"You do. I can tell. Your temper hasn't gone away. If the officers were a minute late, you probably would've killed Tiago."
"I'm fine."
"I know a psychologist..."
"I'm fine detective!" I growled rudely interrupting her.
"No you're not! You need help! Legend... Duane, how long do you think you can live like this? You’re suffering. I’m starting to regret asking you to help me. I took advantage of you. I’ve gotten you shot and stabbed and I continued using you like a puppet so that I could continue getting recognition from the department. I'm feeling bad about it."
"Someone has to do something about the homicides."
"You're right. But it's not you... Duane there is something you should know. I... I... I have been promoted to sergeant. I was trying to hold out from telling you but I can’t continue doing this to you. In two months will be sent back to patrol. I'm going to be reassigned uptown. I decided to give up on being a detective. The long hours, nights without sleep... It's taking a toll on me. And this part of town can ruin your life if you don't get out. Just look around. Nothing good comes out of here. It's depressing. Last year four officers swallowed their gun and they all worked downtown. I'm leaving Duane." She uttered.
"So what happens now?"
"Now I'm going to take you to the hospital. And when you get released you're going to go back to New York and let your parents know you're all right. When was the last time you even spoke to them? Then you need to talk to someone and get help." She replied.
“I don’t need to speak to anyone.”
“Yeah you do Duane. You have some demons you need to get rid of. You did some things I know you’re not too proud of. I know you were in your apartment that night the girl died at your door. I know you witnessed the entire assault. I know you didn’t tell Lolani about the muggings and the burglary and everything else that followed you. I know it’s eating you up. Sometimes we make mistakes that are uncorrectable. No matter how hard you try to fix your errors, they will remain. You have to learn sometimes there is no resolution and you have to take it for what it is. A lesson. You’re going to go home Duane. And if you ever decide to visit Capitol City again, call me.”
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